


To Cause a Soul to Crack

by SleepySkeleton



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Dissociation, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Minor Character Death, Physical Abuse, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Rape Aftermath, Rape/Non-con Elements, Recovery, Suicidal Thoughts, graphic but not to be read as smut, the more graphic chapters have warnings at the beginning, thorns
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-24
Updated: 2017-01-07
Packaged: 2018-05-08 21:37:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 17
Words: 88,560
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5514224
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SleepySkeleton/pseuds/SleepySkeleton
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>But the fascinating thing he’d learned was, there were a lot of ways to make people hurt—ways that would make them hurt, but not die. Ways to make their soul crack while still barely holding itself together. It got a bit difficult when the target only had one HP, but that only meant that he needed to be more… creative. Indirect.</p>
<p>By hurting a soul intricately linked with the target one, for example.</p>
<p>Cover: http://i.imgur.com/hPNFOHG.png</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

The searing light and wisps of smoke lingered on the edge of his vision as he woke up in the flower bed, taking in the fresh feeling of a new reset. It might have been a little nice—especially since his body was no longer turning into ash—had not the reason for the reset been so  _ frustrating _ .

Before he could fume over it for much longer, the sound of humming reached him. Right—the king was there with his back to him, and he really didn’t want to deal with him in this timeline. Or for several more timelines yet.

With a rustle of his golden petals, he was out of the flower garden and deep underground.

So that last timeline had been more-or-less an absolute failure. Not his first failure, of course—that was par the course for the things he did. Experimented with. Toyed with. Trial-and-error was normally part of the fun, seeing what worked and what didn’t, what he could get away with and what he couldn’t. But normally the trial and error merely involved save reloads—going back a few minutes, hours, days, or even weeks to amend an error.

It was a bit more frustrating when he lost an entire  _ year’s  _ worth of work.

He thought he’d been careful with his saves that time, but no—he’d saved just barely too late, after a certain smiley trashbag had figured out what he was trying to do. No matter how many times he reloaded the save,  _ he  _ would always be there to stop him. It got worse every time, to the point where every time he reloaded,  _ he  _ would immediately be next to him, ready to unleash an attack.

As he mused, he weaved around the magma streams of Hotland, having memorized the path several dozen resets ago. He could still feel the heat from the soil around him, but it was nothing compared to the hellish attack that  _ comedian _ was fond of.

The feeling of anger ghosted over him as he pushed his way through to the cooler soils of Waterfall, now having to avoid springs and streams of water. Normally when a plan failed hard enough to warrant a full reset, he might spend some time collecting his thoughts and trying to get it to work again. But he was so frustrated, so  _ sick  _ of that bundle of bones that kept ruining his plans, he couldn’t even concentrate on his old plan (which hadn’t even  _ involved  _ that idiot).

True, he could just kill him—catch him off-guard, bury the clothes and dust, and go on with his plan without interruptions. But then there was always the chance of other monsters actually missing him, organizing search parties, potentially finding the buried remains… Ugh, even when he was  _ dead _ , he was a bother.

His body rippled in a shudder, and not just because he was pushing through frozen ground.

No, that wasn’t enough. It was never enough to just kill him, especially if he wanted him to pay for ruining a year’s worth of work. He would have to do something different this time—something tailor-made to make the smiley trashbag suffer.

Luckily, it wasn’t too difficult to figure out just what—or rather  _ who _ —he’d have to mess with to do just that.

He angled himself upward, plowing through the upper layers of soil before surfacing through the snow with a  _ pop  _ and a shower of powder.

“Howdy!” he said to the tall skeleton, who had staggered backward in surprise. “I’m Flowey!”

And he gave Papyrus his usual smile, rustling his petals when the skeleton smiled back.

Yes, the  _ who _ was easy.

It was the  _ what  _ that was going to be the fun part.


	2. The Storm Before the Storm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Snow, a scarf, and some misplaced trust.

The snow fell in huge, fluffy flakes outside, rapidly piling up on the ground below. If this kept up, it would mean several feet of snow to stomp through tomorrow on the way to work…

And more than enough material to make a snow-skeleton with!

Papyrus laughed quietly as he tipped back in his computer chair, watching the snow fall outside his window. His internet browser was opened to the Undernet, showing a lengthy conversation he’d just finished with someone with the username “ALPHYS.” A mug that once contained cocoa sat beside his mouse, and a purple checkerboard blanket was wrapped snugly around him. Overall, it had been a pleasant night, and with the snow falling outside, it was sure to be a pleasant morning as well.

Now all he needed was for Sans to come in and read him a bedtime story, and everything would be perf—

_Bleep!_

Sitting up and squinting at his computer screen, he examined the textbox that had come up. Why had he set a timer to go off now? He wasn’t waiting on anything cooking downstairs, and the new episode of Mettaton’s show wasn’t until Friday, so what was the alert for?

He drummed his fingers against the edge of the desk in thought before spotting the time. _10:30_.

“OH!” he cried, leaping to his feet and dropping his blanket. Of course! He’d told Flowey he would meet with him tonight!

Grinning, the skeleton gathered up his blanket and strode across the room to put it back on his bed. It looked like the night wasn’t over yet, and that was perfectly fine by him. It had been a week since he’d seen his friend, and he’d been looking forward to this. Unfortunately this meant that he would miss his bedtime story (if he wound up sleeping at all tonight), but that was a small price to pay for hanging out with one of his best friends.

After smoothing out the blanket, turning off his computer, and grabbing his empty mug, Papyrus made his way down the stairs. He was immediately greeted with the sight of his brother sleeping on their lumpy couch while static fizzled on the TV screen, and heaved a sigh. It looked like he wouldn’t have gotten a bedtime story even if he _had_ gone to bed now.

“Sans,” he called, crossing into the kitchen, “would you like me to carry you to your room?”

He was rewarded with the sound of sleepy mumbling, which was drowned out as he climbed up onto the counter to wash his mug in the sink. His voice rose over the sound of the running water. “I said, would you like me to carry you to bed?”

“Uuuh… hm?” Sans grumbled from the other room.

Frowning, Papyrus stepped down from the counter and put his mug in the cabinet, wondering just how his brother could manage to sleep for nearly half the day and _still_ be tired. He walked to the couch, reaching out tentatively. “Brother?”

Sans turned over, blinking a few times before his pupils came to a focus on his brother. “Oh… hey, bro,” he mumbled sleepily, managing a sincere half-smile.

 _Finally!_ “Sans, I was just wondering if you’d like me to—”

_Zzzzzz…_

Well, he should have expected that, but he supposed it answered his question. Sans would be fine where he was--he’d certainly fallen asleep in less-comfortable places before. Shrugging, Papyrus switched off the TV and walked out the door, closing it gently behind him.

The snow was already an inch away from spilling over into his boots, and Papyrus was grateful that skeletons were not bothered by the cold. Even so, he pulled his scarf a bit more tightly around his neck to prevent the snow from falling through his armor and into his ribcage—he didn’t have enough body heat to make the snow melt, and it would be unpleasant to come back home with water dripping down his spine. He couldn’t stop his boots from filling with snow, though, and he would have to shake them out later before he went home, lest he wind up with his feet drenched.

He trudged through the mostly-silent town, noting that Grillby’s was one of the few buildings that still had light pouring out of its windows. Not many people would be see him at this hour, and those who did—such as any patrons at Grillby’s that might happen to glance out the window at the right time—wouldn’t think twice about a sentry walking around at night. It was a good thing, Flowey had told him, though he wasn’t entirely sure _why_.

The flower was odd like that—he was very insistent that Papyrus should not let anyone know he existed. Maybe he was just shy, only wanting to reveal himself to Papyrus until he felt confident enough to meet someone else? He supposed that could be the case. Maybe Papyrus could help him make a new friend sometime, whenever he was ready.

For now, though, it was just him and Flowey—talking about nothing in particular, counting the crystals in the ceiling, showing off magic… he didn’t mind. Whatever Flowey wanted to do was fine with him. Whatever it was, he would be happy, so long as Flowey was, too.

The snow was falling even heavier now, but Papyrus knew his way around well enough to not be worried, even if the long trek would be even longer for the weather. With Snowdin behind him, he marched off the usual path and into the woods, the snow quickly filling in the deep prints left by his boots.

 

* * *

 

Flowey kept as close to the large tree trunk as his roots would allow, glaring upward for the fifth time before shaking the snow off of his petals. Of course they would get a snowstorm tonight, of all nights, and he couldn’t decide whether it was going to interfere with his plans or not. He wanted to be able to _see_ what he was doing, after all, but maybe if he angled his upper petals just right… _there_.

For a fleeting moment he wished he had his old body again, so he could wear a hoodie or something to keep the snow out of his eyes, but he buried the thought as quickly as it came up. He didn’t want to think about that—not right now. That wasn’t _him_ . He wasn’t… that wasn’t _him_ anymore.

He’d been going for so long like this, reset after reset. He didn’t know how long it had been now, the time he spent in each timeline, but it had definitely been several years. No longer could he be considered a child. No, he was much older, and he was certain of that, because...

He _knew_ things now.

He knew what it felt like to kill someone, to cause them to fade into dust, to see a soul shatter. He knew that look on someone’s face when their hopes and dreams were crushed. He knew how to make people _hurt_.

And that was a grown-up thing to do, wasn’t it?

 _They_ had told him that once, before.

But the fascinating thing he’d learned was, there were a _lot_ of ways to make people hurt—ways that would make them hurt, but not die. Ways to make their soul crack while still barely holding itself together. It got a bit difficult when the target only had one HP, but that only meant that he needed to be more… creative. Indirect.

By hurting a soul intricately linked with the target one, for example.

This was where things got tricky.

_Crunch, crunch, crunch._

And this was where the fun would start.

“Papyrus!” he cried, ducking into the snow and popping out in the center of the clearing. “I was afraid you wouldn’t come.”

The skeleton stomped up to him through the deep snow, taking a moment to kick some of it out of his boots. “It takes more than a little snow to stop the great Papyrus!” he said, whipping the end of his scarf back with a flourish. It flopped heavily from the snow caked onto it and stuck against the back of his costume.

Flowey forced a giggle.

“How have you been doing, friend?” Papyrus asked, stooping down to get a better look at him. “Are you cold?”

“No, silly, flowers don’t get cold any more than skeletons do.” Flowey tossed his petals around, keeping the top ones angled forward. Briefly he wondered if it cast a shadow over his eyes, and what Papyrus thought of that.

Evidently he thought nothing of it, for the skeleton merely crouched further down next to him. “That’s good! What have you been up to? I haven’t seen you in a week!” He looked like he wanted to sit down, but his backside was already sinking partially into the snow--it was too deep to avoid.

 _Don’t worry, you won’t be crouched like that for long_. “Oh, just thinking about things. How about you?”

“I’ve been working sentry duty, of course!” he replied, straightening his back and nearly tumbling over. “No humans yet, though. But! I’ve also been training with Undyne, so I’ll be prepared when one does come along.”

Flowey perked up, grinning a bit wider. The opportunity couldn’t have been more perfect. “Prepared?” he asked, tilting his head.

“Oh, yes. I’ve told you how strong humans are—or at least, how strong I’ve _heard_ they are—and as a sentry and future member of the royal guard, I have to be prepared to take them out in combat and capture them!”

“What about defending yourself?”

“Yes!” Papyrus nodded. “That too. Humans are—”

“Papyrus, can I ask you something?” He flicked his upper petals, knocking off the built-up snow and granting himself a clearer view of the skeleton. His expression must have changed without his realizing, because Papyrus’s face suddenly grew more concerned.

“Um…”

“Have you thought about training to defend yourself against something _other_ than humans?”

Papyrus blinked. “Why do you ask?”

Flowey’s smile widened.

And with no further warning, a vine shot out of the snow, snagging Papyrus’s foot.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, guess this chapter was still a bit short. It didn't work to keep this section paired with the next. That's pacing for you!
> 
> One of the major warnings comes into play next chapter. Get ready...
> 
> Oh. And as you probably guessed, this is my first Undertale story. Please let me know if the characterization needs work. (And those tags, too. Can't quite get the hang of these things.)


	3. Six Hundred and Eighty HP

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Not-very-friendly pellets, not-so-real armor, and not-quite magic.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is where one of the warnings comes into play.
> 
> I hope you have a merry Christmas, readers, because Papyrus sure isn't going to.

The shock nearly caused Papyrus to topple over backward. He didn’t immediately realize what had grabbed him; all he knew was that _something_ had, and he had to get away. Straightening and fighting to keep his balance, he pulled against whatever had taken hold of him. Many other monsters would have fallen over at this point, but Papyrus had trained to fight in the snow, and those boots weren’t just for looks.

The thing, whatever it was, held fast, but at least he wasn’t about to fall over. Now that he was stable, his mind jumped to the next important thing: “Flowey!” he cried, squinting to see his friend through the falling snow. “Something’s attacking! Get out of here before it attacks you, too!”

Flowey, oddly enough, only tilted his head. Something about his smile was strange, as though the center of the flower was jutting out, elongating his face, but that didn’t make sense--the snow was messing with his vision. Flowey was smiling in relief that he was all right, of course.

Struggling, he pulled harder against the grip. When this didn’t work, he looked around desperately for whatever was attacking him, hoping to goodness it wasn’t about to grab his friend, too. “What are you doing, Flowey?” he called, looking at his friend again. “You have to--”

Something white materialized in the air, and instinct told him it was not weather-related. Diving to the side, he crashed into the deep snowbank just as something _zipped_ overhead and collided with a nearby tree. He turned his head, seeing smoke.

Whatever was attacking them was _strong._

“ _Flowey_ !” Papyrus reached down toward his foot, scrabbling at whatever had taken hold of it. “You have to get out of here before you get hurt!” He couldn’t see it, but it was just a little further, just a little… “I’ll take care of-- _aha_!”

His gloved hand finally snagged the foreign object and pulled it up through the snow, exposing it to what little light they had.

It was a vine.

Papyrus was very good at figuring out puzzles. He could have, and did, piece things together very quickly. He knew of no plant monsters--none in the Snowdin area, at least--but he did know of exactly one living plant. It made sense, but… it _didn’t_. It couldn’t. Flowey was his _friend_! He would never _hurt_ him, would he? No, no, he was just looking at this all wrong.

“Flowey, what are you doing? I-is this a game?” he ventured, pushing himself upright.

Flowey laughed, and it was not the high-pitched giggle he was familiar with. It was a warped cackle.

“Oh, Papyrus,” the flower said, eyes widening into strange shapes--ones that reminded him of Sans’s sockets. Shining white pellets formed in the air around him. “You can look at it that way if you want to.”

With a choked cry, Papyrus dove off to one side--fortunately, the side opposite of where the bullets were aimed. He heard them pelt the ground, the snow steaming to the left of him. “S-stop!” he cried, holding up an arm to form an array of bones, which fanned out in front of him to create a shield. “What’s going on?!”

The bullets came at him again, but he was able to move his bones enough to block the attacks. For a moment he was relieved until he felt a harsh _yank_ at his foot as the vine pulled him closer.

“It’s more interesting when you fight _back_ ,” Flowey growled, face twisting in frustration. It was such an ugly expression--one he’d never seen on his friend before--and Papyrus felt the sinking sensation of guilt in his midsection.

What had he done wrong?

“F-Flowey, I don’t want to fight you.” Papyrus shook his head desperately, crossing a few more sets of bones in front of him. “You’ll get hurt!”

Flowey’s face darkened. “Do you really--”

\--something enormous rose out of the ground nearby--

“--think that--”

\--the tangle of thorny vines swung horizontally, knocking out Papyrus’s shield of bones--

“--I’m the one--”

\--magic pellets filled the air--

“--who will get _hurt_?”

\--and rained down on him.

Frantically Papyrus threw bone after bone in a near-blind panic, trying to block the onslaught while avoiding hitting Flowey. His magic successfully blocked several bullets, but it was not enough. One slammed into his right humerus, knocking his arm backward, while another struck the chestplate of his battle body, ramming him farther back into the snowbank.

A throbbing pain radiated out of his arm, and his chest felt tight and uncomfortable--nothing had been broken, but the bones were badly bruised. He tried to pull his arm out to summon another attack, but his movements were shaky, so he switched to his left, casting a line of bones in front of him. They stretched high--higher than most monsters could jump--and formed a barred wall in front of him.

“Y-you don’t have to do this!” He struggled to get a good look at the flower, who was still glaring at him. His mind was racing, trying desperately to think of what he could have possibly done to upset his friend like this. “I’m sorry if I hurt you! Please t-tell me--wh-what have I done wrong? I’ll fix it!”

Was Flowey suddenly much taller than normal, or was that the snow playing tricks on him again? “It’s too late to fix it now,” Flowey spat, “you gullible _idiot_.”

“G… gullible?” Papyrus whimpered, feeling his non-existent insides sink. A gullible idiot? Had Flowey not really…?

He shook his head and kicked his free foot, struggling to get up. “No, no, Flowey, you--you don’t have to do this!” He moved his attack forward a little, to give himself room enough to sit up, and gave a jolt of surprise to see the flower leaning _over_ the attack, stalk stretched impossibly tall, the flower itself angled downward like an unlit ceiling lamp.

An idea struck him: if he turned Flowey blue, he would fall right onto the bones--

_NO._

No blue attacks--he couldn’t hurt him like that.

In spite of the fact that his entire frame was shaking in fear, he looked the flower in the eyes, giving him a genuinely concerned look. “I don’t know what’s wrong, but--but I know that you’re a good person! You don’t have to hurt anyone!”

Flowey’s voice was a deep rumble. “ _Don’t you have anything_ new _to say to me?_ ”

His mind scrambled for an explanation of what that could possibly mean, then realized a split-second too late that he’d been distracted.

The bullets came at him from all sides, and he had no time to meet them with his own attack. One pellet struck his left femur, another the side of his skull, another his battle body, one his shoulder, his battle body again, his spine, his skull, his battle body, his ribcage, he was seeing stars his ears were ringing it hurt it hurt _it hurt_ \--

It was out of instinctive self-preservation that he scattered the bones in front of him, hurling them at Flowey.

And the world stuttered.

 

* * *

 

Sans tumbled off of the couch.

Magic thrummed through him hard enough to make him shake as his glowing pupils darted around the room, trying to figure out where he was. The living room--right, he’d fallen asleep watching TV again. But he’d felt…

He didn’t know what it was. It was like a pulse of foreign not-quite-magic jolting him--that was the best way he could describe it. Normally it was a bit more subtle than that, usually accompanied with a strong feeling of _deja-vu_ , but this time it was more powerful. More sudden.

Something was wrong.

“Papyrus?” he called, pushing himself to his feet and staggering into the kitchen. “Papyrus, are you--?” No.

His magic thrummed faster in panic, manifesting itself in a blue-and-yellow glow in his left eye that he quickly put out. He scrambled up the stairs, nearly tripping over his own slippers, and flung Papyrus’s door open so hard that it banged against the wall. “Papyrus!” he called again. He stepped in, and felt a cold sickness in his center at finding the room empty.

_Where was he?_

His fingers tapped against his skull with a sharp _tic-tic-tic_ as he tried to remember--had Papyrus gone out somewhere? Sans was supposed to read him his bedtime story, but he’d been asleep, he was _always_ asleep, couldn’t he manage to stay _awake_ for--

Focus, focus, this wasn’t helping--

A dull memory surfaced of Papyrus waking him up earlier. His eyes had shut before he’d seen where Papyrus had gone, but he’d heard the footsteps heading toward the door…

Before he realized what he was doing, he was already at the front door, opening it and flinching back at the wind and snow that rushed inside.

 _Why had Papyrus gone out in_ that _?_

“ _PAPYRUS_!” he yelled, and the wind swallowed his voice.

His magic roiled as panic overtook him, and without another thought, he charged through the deep snow and into the night.

 

* * *

 

“Well, I guess that was better than nothing.”

Papyrus came to his senses--focused, but still in pain--to the sight of Flowey towering before him, his stem bent at odd angles. For a moment he wondered why, but then he remembered the attack--he must have sent it flying at him.

Part of him was relieved that the bones had missed entirely, while another part was terrified. How was he going to stop Flowey from attacking him if the flower could dodge his attacks so easily?

Sitting up, he did a quick assessment of his injuries: his battle body (which was not _real_ armor, he lamented) was dented and torn, multiple bones were bruised, and above all, his HP was dwindling--the barrage had knocked him down to _twenty_. Involuntarily he shivered, and bit back a whimper at the pain this produced in his aching body. Twenty HP--he’d had nearly _seven hundred_. How could Flowey be so strong?

How much did he want to hurt him to be able to do _that_ much damage?

“F-Flowey,” he croaked, choking for a moment from the pain in his chest, “please, I-I want to help you…”

The flower straightened his stem and shrunk down, still taller than normal, but not looking quite so monstrous now. The frightening look had gone from his face, which was once more flat with beady eyes and a wide smile. “Do you, now?”

Papyrus’s eyes widened, and he fought to sit up straighter, cringing at his aching spine and throbbing head. “ _Yes_!” he replied, meeting his friend’s gaze and trying to smile. “I-I never knew you were so hurt--s-so hurt that you would lash out at me, but I want to help!”

“Oh, Papyrus,” the flower said gently, leaning in closer. “Why didn’t you tell me that before? There’s a very simple way for you to help me.”

He nearly fell backward in relief, giving a stuttering laugh before coughing at the pain. “Yes, yes, please, anything--”

Flowey pulled back, and a thick whip of thorny vines shot out of the ground.

“Don’t die.”

Before he even had time to cry out, the whip swung, hard, onto his chest, shattering the front of his battle body and knocking him flat into the snow. Three ribs snapped under the pressure, and he was blind from the pain, deaf to the world, unable to hear his own gagging screams that filled the clearing.

 _Two HP_ , something in the back of his mind told him, but he was too busy choking in agonized, ugly sobs to register what that meant. Each gasp brought a renewed spike of pain, which further increased his urge to cry, and he had to fight, truly fight, to calm himself enough to _stop_.

The pain didn’t fade, but he worked up enough control to be able to focus through the haze, seeing Flowey looming over him, studying him. He was no longer tall on his stem--merely a normal-sized flower again--and yet the sight of the yellow petals filled him with dread. He wanted nothing more than to scramble far, far away from him.

“Hmm,” Flowey said at length, tapping the tip of a leaf to his mouth in thought. “Sorry, Papyrus, looks like that was a bit much. Here, let me.”

Two short vines raised up from the ground, and Papyrus tried to raise one of his arms to meet the attack with one of his own. But his chest throbbed in pain, and it was all he could do to stop himself from breaking down again.

He gasped as the vines touched his ribcage, the light contact sending another jolt of pain through him. But before he could protest, a gentle green magic flowed from the ends of the vines, engulfing his ribcage and mending the broken bones. A few seconds later they pulled away, leaving some of the bruises, but enabling him to breathe, at least, (for as much as he needed to breathe, anyway) without drowning in utter agony. His HP had replenished only a little, but it was better than nothing.

...Wait…

In spite of the horrible aches and pains that plagued his entire body, Papyrus turned to face Flowey again, his face lit in a smile. “Y-you see?” he gasped, his voice still scratchy and sore. “I told you you could be good…!”

“Papyrus, you silly,” Flowey giggled, poking him lightly on his nasal bone with a vine. He then moved his face very close to Papyrus’s, his eyes growing darker and smile growing wider by the second.  “That was only so you’d be able to feel what I’m gonna do next!”

The words did not register immediately, and Papyrus stared in confusion for a moment before his eyes grew wide, and his jaw went slack. He tried to speak, but the only sound that came from his throat was a pitiful squeak.

 _Going to do_ next _?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See that wordcount toward the top of the page? Next chapter's still not finished, and pretty soon it's going to exceed the current wordcount.
> 
> And yes, the next chapter will involve that second warning.
> 
> I'm sorry, skelebros, for what's gonna happen next.


	4. Shattered Magic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Behind the eyes, between the bones, around the soul.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is where the second warning comes into play. 
> 
> Bad times are ahead, readers.

In the midst of his shock, Papyrus noticed that it was no longer storming. The snow was now falling in light, fluffy flakes, but this image, which had been so appealing to him earlier that night, now filled him with a sadness he could not fully comprehend. With the chest plate of his battle body torn and cracked, the snowflakes were piling up in his ribcage, clinging to the exposed bone.

And Flowey was sitting beside him, laughing softly.

Flicking the snow off of his petals, he let go of Papyrus’s leg and quickly wrapped two vines around his shoulders, gentle enough to not hurt him further. Somehow this frightened Papyrus more than anything, and he gave the flower a pleading look.

“Flowey,” he whispered, his body trembling, “C-can I go home…? It’s—it’s getting late, and Sans might be—”

“Aw, but you were so _excited_ to hang out with me!” Flowey giggled. “What’s the hurry?”

“I-I...”

_I’m sore, I’m tired, I’m worried, I’m scared, I want to go home._

He swallowed. “...d-didn’t plan on being out this late.”

“Gee.” Flowey bobbed his head, giggling. “That’s too bad!”

Behind him, he could hear the sound of something sweeping through the snow, and he could see the thick clumps occasionally fly up out of the corners of his vision. He kicked his feet, which were now free from the vines, but his heels skidded in the packed-down snow. A quiet howl of wind pressed against him, and for a few seconds he closed his eyes, imagining he was hearing it from the safety of his room.

The vines at his shoulders suddenly began to pull, and Papyrus jolted to life again, fighting against the vines with sudden renewed strength. “Flowey, no, don’t do this—!”

“Oh, please.” Flowey waved a dismissive leaf. “You don’t even know what ‘this’ is yet!”

The vines continued to drag him backward, and he was dimly aware of the fact that the deep snow had been swept to either side, leaving a shallow dusting of it up against one of the trees lining the clearing. With a harsh _yank_ that jostled his sore bones, the vines shoved him against the tree, propping his shoulders and upper back against the trunk and roots.

Papyrus kicked both of his legs and pulled against the vines, but they tightened around him, keeping him firmly pressed against the tree. Shaking, he raised both of his hands, summoning half a dozen bones that flew toward Flowey and stuck firmly into the ground off to either side of him—an intentional miss. Tears stung at his eyesockets and guilt gnawed at his soul, even as he summoned another group of bones to target his friend. “I-I don’t want to do this to you, Flowey!”

Regarding the attacks with an unimpressed frown, the flower waited until they were inches from hitting him before diving under the ground, resurfacing right next to Papyrus. “You know, I’m disappointed in you,” Flowey said. “I _know_ you can fight, yet you never want to!”

Swallowing a whimper, Papyrus sent another barrage of bones at the flower, missing by several inches and barely avoiding hitting himself. It was hard to concentrate through his pain and exhaustion, but more than that… “I-I can’t hurt you.” A couple shaky bones materialized in the air before quickly disintegrating. “You’re my friend…”

Flowey shook his head. “Papyrus, Papyrus. Always gullible and trusting till the end, even when it gets you hurt.”

“B-but…” He reached back, grabbing at the vines that held him, but barely had the strength to grasp them—his exhaustion was wearing on him. “Friends… _should_ trust each other.”

The flower eyed him askance as a few more vines rose out of the ground, two weaving around either leg and two wrapping around either arm. “Mmhmm, and you sure are doing a good job of proving yourself trustworthy to _your_ friends.” He glanced down at the skeleton’s feet, and another vine began tugging at his right boot.

Papyrus blinked. “Wh-what? Hey—” He tried to pull his leg away from the offending vine, but the other vine only held it more tightly against the ground. The one working at the boot successfully pulled it off, then moved to work on the other. “Stop—”

Flowey touched his jaw with yet another vine, guiding the skeleton toward his face. “You’ve already proven to me that _I_ can’t trust you, what with how easily you went down.”

“No, no, Flowey, that’s not it—!” He suddenly noticed that the vines were tugging at his gloves. When he turned his head to look, Flowey pulled him back.

“And Undyne!” Flowey continued, brow furrowing. “What will she do when she finds out one of her sentries couldn’t take down a tiny little flower?”

He hadn’t thought about that, but—but Undyne would understand, wouldn’t she? She’d understand that he—that he couldn’t attack a friend. “She—”

“—would never let you into the Royal Guard, given how badly you failed as a _sentry_ ,” Flowey finished, a wry smile crossing his features. “That’s a shame!”

Papyrus clenched his hands into fists, then winced at the feeling of his phalanges touching snow. Where had his gloves—?

“Oh, and your _brother_!” Flowey cried, rearing his head back with a frown. “You want nothing more than to protect him, right?”

Suddenly aware his vision was blurring, Papyrus blinked away the tears, not sure when they’d come up again in the first place. “Yes, yes—I c-can still p-protect—”

“You couldn’t stop me from doing hundreds of HP worth of damage to you, Papyrus.” The flower tilted his head. “How are you supposed to protect _Mr. One-HP_?”

Papyrus’s eyesockets widened, and he threw himself against the vines in a blind panic. “DON’T HURT SANS!” he wailed, and even Flowey was surprised at the outburst. “DON’T TOUCH HIM!”

“Hush, hush!” The soft voice contrasted sharply with the vines that slammed him, hard, back against the ground and tree, and Papyrus couldn’t hold back the cry of pain. “I won’t touch your brother. You have my word.”

In spite of his fear and pain, relief washed over him at the words. “Th-thank you…!” he squeaked, only to draw in a sharp gasp of surprise when a vine touched his neck.

“After all, I have all I need _right here_.”

The vine coiled around Papyrus’s scarf, and he pulled his head against it, gritting his teeth at the pain. “No, no, that’s _mine_ —!” _All_ of this, really, was part of his battle body that Sans had made for him, but the scarf was something he’d had for even longer—so much longer than he had only vague memories of when Sans gave it to him for his birthday, back when they were small. It had gotten snagged and torn so many times over the years, and it was covered in well-hidden stitches—stitches that were starting to tear as the vine pulled at it. “Don’t wreck it, _please_ don’t wreck it!”

With swift deliberation and a mischievous giggle, Flowey gave the scarf a forceful _yank_ , tearing it at the seams.

“ _NO_!” Papyrus cried as the two halves of the scarf were pulled away. He watched helplessly as the vine tossed the ruined fabric aside, close to where his gloves and boots had been piled. He whimpered at seeing the precious object torn like that, but he tried to assure himself that he could fix it again when this was all over. As soon as he got out of this mess, he could stitch it back together, and it would be good as new. In just a little bit, now. When this was all…

Dread engulfed him

When _would_ this be over?

Feeling movement around his chest, he looked down to see a few vines tugging at his ruined chest plate, breaking away more pieces of it. “Wh-what are you doing?”

“Well, it’s wrecked anyway,” Flowey said, patting him on the head and ignoring his flinch. “I don’t see much a point in keeping it on!”

Papyrus wanted badly to protest, but instead ground his teeth, shivering as the vines pulled at wrecked costume. The action hurt his bruised ribs, but it also left him feeling uneasy—his ribcage was exposed enough as it was. He didn’t want even more of it showing, especially with his bones as banged-up as they were. The snow stuck to them, and it _stung_ where it met the mended cracks. His battle body may have left his arms, legs, and part of his spine uncovered, but this just felt… _wrong_.

With a sudden _crack_ , the vines snapped the chest plate in half, and the vines around his arms briefly let go, just long enough for Flowey to yank the costume off. Papyrus tried to wrap his arms around his ribcage, but the vines only grabbed them again, tugging them roughly away from his body and against the tree at an uncomfortable angle.

“Well, gee, Papyrus, look at that!” Flowey said, holding two leaves to his mouth in mock surprise. “Your armor’s almost gone!”

Papyrus’s shivering intensified as he wished desperately to cover his chest—he didn’t like this, it didn’t feel right at all—

“Welp, if you’ve gone this far, might as well go all-out, right?” This time two vines appeared at his hips, and Papyrus gave a sharp, pained gasp. “Or rather, all- _off_!”

The vines hooked around the lower part of his battle body, starting to pull on it, and Papyrus shook his head wildly, flailing with what little strength he had left against his restraints. “No, no, _no_!” he cried, tears spilling down his cheeks. He didn’t understand why Flowey was doing this to him, but the idea of being completely exposed, with no armor or clothing to protect him, left him _terrified_. “Please, please, no…!”

“If really you didn’t want this,” Flowey said, “you’d stop me, wouldn’t you?” And suddenly the vines stopped tugging at his lower armor, going slack. “So go ahead. Stop me.”

Papyrus looked up in surprise, then struggled against the vines again. It took him a moment to notice the high-pitched, strained sound coming from the back of his throat, but he didn’t care to stop, only fighting harder to pull away. A few bones even managed to materialize at his sides, but they quickly dropped to the ground, fading.

The vines did not budge.

Flowey let him keep this up for a minute before giving a disappointed _tsk_. “Didn’t think so.”

And the last part of his armor was yanked off.

Papyrus tried to move his legs as quickly as he could in those few seconds of freedom, trying to cross them, or curl them up against his body, or _something_ , but Flowey only grabbed them again, this time pulling them until they were spread apart, much like his arms. It strained at his joints, but more than that, it left him feeling more exposed and vulnerable than he had ever felt in his life.

Even _Sans_ had never seen him like this.

He could no longer suppress his whimpers, blinking as more hot tears spilled down his cheeks. “F-Flowey, please,” he squeaked, too frightened and ashamed to look at the flower anymore. “Please let me go.”

“Papyrus, you’d do anything for a friend, right?”

After a few seconds of deliberation, he nodded.

Flowey shifted closer to him, leaning his stem against the skeleton’s ribcage and getting right in his face. “Then let _me_ do what _I_ want.” He stared into his eyesockets, giving the skeleton a pleading look. “You’d do that for me, wouldn’t you?”

Papyrus was looking everywhere but into that flower’s tiny, beady eyes, his jaw quivering.

The vines tightened nearly to the point of snapping his bones, and Flowey’s face split open into a fanged maw, beady eyes growing wide and menacing. “ _WOULDN’T YOU_?!”

“ _YES_!” Papyrus screamed, shutting his eyes as he began to sob. “Yyyye-e-e-e-es…”

Slowly the vines loosened until the pain abated, though they still held him fast. “Good.” Flowey said, pulling his face away. “That’s all I needed to know.”

Keeping his eyes shut, he tried to will himself to pull away from the vines, to summon his magic again, to do _something_ to retaliate against whatever was going to happen, but his energy was thoroughly spent. The least he could do was keep himself from _seeing_ whatever Flowey was going to do—maybe it wouldn’t be so bad, then?

But for the moment, Flowey didn’t seem to be doing anything at all. All Papyrus could feel was the cold ground below him, the rough tree bark at his back, and the icy wind that occasionally blew the snow off of the piles and between his bones. He began to wonder if maybe Flowey was just going to leave him there, and in spite of his uncomfortable position, he would readily accept that fate over anything else—aside from maybe being released. No, that was better—maybe Flowey would just change his mind and release him. He would realize that he didn’t need to do any of this, and he would apologize and let him go home. Surely he had enough good in him to do that, right?

“Hmmm.”

Papyrus’s soul gave a hopeful flutter.

“Where to start…”

And the hope waned.

_Start with_ what _?_ he almost wanted to ask, but he was too afraid—he didn’t want to know, he didn’t want to be here, he wished he had just stayed home—

Something very, very gently began stroking the back of his skull, drifting down to his upper vertebrae, and Papyrus gasped, eyesockets flying open. It wasn’t pain, as he had feared it might be, but something about how gentle the touch was against his bones felt so _wrong—_

“Flowey I’ve changed my mind,” he said frantically, staring blankly at the snowdrifts ahead. “I take it back, I don’t want this. I don’t want you to do this. Let me go—!”

“But you already said _yes_ ,” Flowey replied, and he didn’t have to see the flower to know the kind of expression he was making. “It’s too late to turn back now!”

“N-no—” The vine poked at the discs between his vertebrae and felt around the spinous processes, and he straightened his back, trying to pull away from the touch. “No, no—!”

Flowey giggled, swiping the vine up his back and making him yelp. “Oh, Papyrus! If _this_ is your reaction to me just poking around your spine, I can’t wait to see what you think of the rest!”

A gnawing, void feeling filled his chest—where normally his magic would be rushing in panic, his reserve was now churning like a near-empty, upset stomach. “ _No_! Flowey I don’t know what you’re doing but I want you to stop…!” His struggles had worn down to a weak shuffling of his limbs against the restraints. “Let me go!”

“You told me I could do what I want, Papyrus.” The vine stroked the bottom of his jaw, and he yanked back, bashing the back of his skull against the tree. He saw stars and knew his HP was down to dangerous levels again, and it only made him panic all the more.

“I DON’T WANT YOU TO DO IT!” he wailed, clenching his fists and shutting his eyes again. His face burned in shame as he turned his head, trying desperately to see out of the clearing. He was a sentry, a guard— _he_ was supposed to be the one helping people, not the other way around. He hated that he had to do this, but he had no other choice; swallowing his pride, he began to scream: “ _HELP_! HELP ME! SANS, HELP! _SAAAAAAAAAAAANS_!”

The vine that had been so gentle with him suddenly lashed tightly around his neck, yanking him forward against his restraints until he was eye-to-eye with Flowey’s narrowed gaze. “ _Calling for help_?” he growled. “Really?”

The sympathetic part of Papyrus’s mind noticed something beyond the burning hate in Flowey’s eyes, but his panic and terror was great enough to override even that. Whimpering, he turned his head away. “Sans—!”

The vine tightened, and he gagged.

“It doesn’t _matter_ , Papyrus,” Flowey hissed. “Call for Mommy or Daddy or your _garbage brother_ , but you know what’s going to happen?” He shook him roughly. “ _Nothing_. You can cry all you want, but nobody will come. It’s _not—gonna—happen_.”

“N-no,” Papyrus choked, hands grasping uselessly at the ground, “S-Sans w-will—”

Several vines shot out of the ground and hooked around Papyrus’s jaw, pushing themselves through the gap between his jaw and teeth and forcing themselves down his throat.

“You’re done talking, Papyrus.” And with that, he shoved him back against the tree.

Automatically he cried out in pain, but the only sound that made it past the knot of vines was a muffled whimper. He tried to bite the intruding plants, but their position behind his teeth made it impossible—he was thoroughly gagged. It hurt his jaw and uppermost vertebrae, but he could do nothing but grit his teeth against the pain and discomfort.

“Looks like your brother’s forgotten you,” Flowey taunted, and Papyrus refused to look at him. “What a shame.”

Sans _hadn’t_ forgotten him, though. He knew he hadn’t. He was… he was just sleeping. He would have to wake up eventually, and then he would notice he was gone, and he would come to rescue him—but did he even know where he _was_?

_Why didn’t you_ tell _him where you were going?_ he berated himself. Yes, Flowey didn’t generally want Papyrus telling other people about him, but he could have at least said he was going into the forest. _How is he going to find you…?_

He craned his neck, trying to look back into the forest, toward his home. _Sans,_ he thought desperately, _where_ are _you?_

 

* * *

 

His foot sank into another hidden ditch in the deep snow, and Sans stumbled.

The powder kicked up all around him, and he struggled in it before taking a quick shortcut out, reappearing a few feet from where he’d fallen. The action brought on a brief spell of dizziness—he couldn’t keep using his magic like this. There was only so much he could do before his reserves would be spent, and had a very strong suspicion that he would need as much magic as possible for whenever he reached his destination.

Wherever that was.

He’d called Papyrus’s phone, but it only rang from within the house. Normally he was good about taking it with him, but of course _this_ would be the one night he’d forgotten.

Next he’d checked Grillby’s, but none of the patrons knew where he was. Doggo at least had mentioned that he’d seen someone walking toward the west an hour or more ago, and that was the best lead he had. There were no tracks to follow—the falling snow had thoroughly covered everything, and the wind had smoothed over whatever dents might have remained.

All he knew was that Papyrus was somewhere west of the town and east of the ruins, in an area that covered miles of forest and hills.

Part of him wanted to summon a gaster blaster right here and now and fire it into the night.

But he didn’t.

Papyrus was somewhere out here, and odds are it wasn’t just for a late-evening jog. The feeling of foreign not-quite-magic still lingered in the back of his memory, and he knew that wherever his brother was, he was not safe.

“Hang on, bro,” Sans whispered, pulling his hood more tightly over his skull. The forest was vast, but he knew at least one—or two—things that might help, and he wasn’t going to give up until he found his brother. “I’m coming.”

 

* * *

 

Flowey’s vine was back to work, tracing circles around each vertebra, making Papyrus shudder at every touch. One— _shiver_ —two— _shiver_ —three— _shiver—_ the skeleton had gone to counting each touch, each vertebra, trying to detach himself from the feeling and focus only on the numbers instead. It almost worked until the vine experimentally poked at a disc again. Slowly it began to work its way into it, pressing into it harder and harder, and Papyrus suddenly arched his back, giving a muffled _howl_.

The flower giggled.

Now the vine moved to his ribcage, gently ghosting and over it and brushing up and down each rib. It only hurt when the vine touched a bruise or crack, but otherwise the feeling was...

He didn’t understand. It wasn’t _bad_ , and yet at the same time, it _was_. His ribs were _always_ covered, and yet now they were being poked and prodded and tickled and he suddenly realized he was gasping in panic, his chest heaving despite his lack of lungs. _Stop, stop, stop_ , he wanted to say, but all that came from his throat were pleading whimpers.

Once again he shut his eyes, trying to think beyond his current situation, to forget what was happening to him. What time of night was it? How long until morning? Was Undyne awake yet? Did he have practice scheduled for this morning? Maybe he did—he hoped he did—because he was never late, and Undyne would notice that he was not there. She would call his phone—had he left it at home?—and come looking for him when he didn’t answer, and she wouldn’t stop until she found him. She would save him from this—she or Sans—one of them—he didn’t care, he just—

The vine stroked the inside of his ribs, and he arched his back again, involuntarily _squirming_ at the sensation. His eyesockets went wide in blind terror, seeing nothing but the empty air above him.

“Heehee! What did you think of that?” Flowey’s voice resonated with a sickening mix of cruelty and curiosity—more the latter than the former. He repeated the action, slower this time, the tip of his vine flicking as it moved over each individual rib.

_Stop it, stop it,_ stop it _—!_ He squirmed again, chest heaving, this time in sobs. Tears streamed down his cheeks, running into his mouth and dripping down his jaw and the vines that bound it.

“Don’t be such a crybaby. You gave me permission to do this, you know.” The vine pulled away from his chest, moving to his face to wipe some of the tears. He cringed away. “Besides… I think you _like_ it, don’t you?”

_No I don’t!_ He didn’t know why Flowey was saying these things to him, but he couldn’t let him mess with his thoughts like this—he hated this, just like he hated the greasy food at Grillby’s, just like he hated Sans’s puns—

_Sans where are you get me out of here please help me I’m so sorry I didn’t wake you up…_

Now the vine was rubbing circles on his sternum, and he pushed his back against the tree trunk in a vain effort to get away. His spine ached and his head pounded—he felt like he’d been tied up like this for hours. Had he? Shouldn’t Sans or Undyne or someone have found him by now? Were they… were they going to come at _all_?

He was struck with the sudden panicked thought that maybe they _weren’t_ coming—maybe he’d upset them both, somehow. That didn’t usually happen—it almost _never_ happened—but he’d upset Flowey somehow without realizing it, hadn’t he? That was why this was happening to him in the first place. Flowey was good—he had no reason to do bad things otherwise. He’d upset Flowey, so… maybe he’d upset his brother and his friend too.

Maybe he’d upset everyone.

_I’m sorry Sans I didn’t carry you to bed, I’m sorry I got mad at you for not doing your laundry earlier, I’m sorry for yelling at you about that sock again…!_

_I’m sorry Undyne, I’m sorry I didn’t hit the target hard enough last practice, I’m sorry I ruined your spaghetti pot during the cooking lesson, I’m sorry I’m still not good enough to join the Guard…_

Papyrus recoiled as the vine continued to prod at him and cringed in guilt at the thought of hurting his loved ones, and he didn’t know which feeling was worse.

Finally the vine moved away from his chest, and he heaved a deep sigh of relief.

Until it moved to his arm.

At least this wasn’t as intrusive as poking around his ribcage, but still he tensed as the vine explored his right humerus, drifting up one side and down the other. It then trailed around the ulna and radius, poking between the two bones and weaving in and out.

“Skeletons sure are weird, huh?” he heard Flowey muse. “You have all these gaps everywhere—how do you stay together?”

The uncomfortable feeling swiftly grew into an intense pain as the vine continued to wrap and tangle itself between the ulna and radius, starting to force them apart. His hand seized up like the talon of a Snowdrake, and he screamed as loud as the vines down his throat would allow, partly out of pain and partly because he had no other way of saying _please stop before you break my arm in half._

“Okay, okay, I get it.” Flowey sighed, untangling the vine and pulling it away. “I don’t wanna waste my magic healing any more broken bones.”

Papyrus’s carpals throbbed and his phalanges twitched, and he lay limp against the tree trunk.

“So does the same thing happen with your legs?”

He bolted upright, as much as the vines that bound him would allow, and shook his head until he was dizzy. _No, no, don’t!_ he tried to say, but his voice was hardly making it past the gag anymore—that last scream had made it go sore and scratchy, and the inside of his chest and throat ached.

Flowey ignored him, and the vine wrapped around his left fibula and tibia, weaving in and out like it had on his arm and poking at his kneecap.

Papyrus stiffened and shut his eyesockets, trying to prepare himself for the pain that was going to come—maybe if he thought about something else. Anything else—anything other than what Flowey was doing. He thought about talking with ALPHYS on the Undernet and the TV shows she was always talking about, he thought about Mettaton’s cooking show and all the recipes he still hadn’t tried yet, he thought about hanging out with his brother and Undyne and it hurt _it hurt make it stop **make it stop—**_

In a few seconds the vine pulled away, leaving his joints throbbing, but mostly undamaged.

He drew in deep shuddering gasps as the pain gradually faded, and cautiously opened his eyes. To his surprise, the vine was now looming over his legs, but not reaching out to grab anything.

Was it… was it over?

Nervous, he turned to his side to look at Flowey, who was studying the skeleton’s lower half. He immediately regretted it when the flower suddenly swung around to face him, looking him in the eyes and giving a toothy grin. “Guess we’re ready for the _fun_ part, huh?”

Skeletons generally did not feel temperature, but at that moment, Papyrus felt very, very cold.

It did not help when the vine suddenly reached up, this time grabbing his lower spine and feeling around it. He shuddered violently, but quickly remembered how counting the vertebrae had helped before. One, two, three—

A second vine shot out of the ground and stroked up his femur.

Papyrus would have yelped if he’d had the ability, but instead the faintest of squeaks escaped his mouth. His shivers intensified and his ribcage heaved as the one vine worked its way down his spine while the other worked its way up his leg.

He felt strange.

He felt strange, and not in a good way. It was similar to how he’d felt when the vine had been toying with his ribcage—it didn’t feel _bad_ , but at the same time, it _did_. It made his face feel hot and his center feel weird and what little magic he had left in his reserves swim and _coil_ within him, starting to come to a focus in his chest. His body told him that this did not feel bad, but his mind, his soul, every other part of him _did_ —he didn’t like this, he didn’t want to feel this way, it made him feel _sick_ —

The upper vine made it to his tailbone, and he jumped.

_Stop it_ , he thought, eyes wide and unseeing in a primal sort of fear. His aching chest heaved, his breathing coming faster. _Stop it, stop it, I don’t like this, I don’t want this…!_

The vine pulled away, but he got the feeling that it was not out of compliance with his wishes.

Shaking uncontrollably, Papyrus looked down at Flowey, and the sick feeling in his pit grew at the flower’s expression. There was no cruelty in his eyes, no anger.

Only intense curiosity.

Papyrus tried to cry out, to get Flowey’s attention, to make him see that he was in pain and he was scared and _he didn’t want this_ , but the only sound he could make was a faint cross between a whimper and a moan.

The other vine had evidently finished examining his femur, and he felt a moment of strained relief before it reached out to trace the crest of his pelvis. A shudder racked his frame, and his chest began to heave in muted sobs.

_I wish I’d stayed home_ , he wanted to yell as he felt the vine explore the inside of his pelvis. _I wish I’d just gone to bed_ , as what was left of his magic rippled and churned in ways he did not understand. _I wish I weren’t so_ weak, as the vine reached his pubic bone.

A distant part of him remembered one time, back before he wore his battle body, when he’d tried to step over the spikes on one of his puzzles. He’d misjudged the height and wound up bashing his groin against the side of a spike, and discovered just how painfully sensitive that particular bone could be.

But apparently that wasn’t the only way it was sensitive.

As much as his other bones had made his body and magic react to Flowey’s touch, this reaction was much _, much_ more intense as the vine traced it, nudged it, felt around it in ways that some primal part of his mind registered as _pleasure_.

The rest of him did not agree.

His face was hot, his breathing hitched, his lower body felt _strange_ , and his magic began to spin and spiral and _churn_ , glowing a dull blue within his chest. Later he would learn that had he not been so exhausted and his reserves so spent, the glow would have been a vibrant, beautiful hue—but now it was an ugly, sickly blue-gray, shining from between his ribs and around his soul, normally hidden but now visible and shaking within his ribcage.

The vine moved faster.

He felt detached. He was going numb, yet could feel everything, the pleasure and pain and hot and cold and sick and strange. Part of his mind was going blank, while the other part was screaming and wailing that he wanted to go _home_ , that he was _sorry_ , that he would _never_ hurt anyone ever again if he could just _get out of this…_

The vine moved faster.

Every feeling intensified until he thought his bones would shatter into dust—his mind was spinning with conflicting feelings, his soul was fighting against his own magic, and he wanted to go home he didn’t want this _I don’t want this I want to go home I don’t want this I DON’T WANT THIS I WANT TO GO HOME SANS HELP ME PLEA—_

His mind went blank, and the magic within his chest exploded outward, spinning into the air and darting back and forth, desperately searching for something it could not find. It twisted around like a torn ribbon blowing in the wind before shivering, then shattering, dim sparkles of blue-gray lost in the flurries of snow.

Papyrus slumped against the tree trunk.

His soul still glowed within him, now a dull, sickly shade, trembling and shaking and throbbing as though in a deep pain, before fading from view.

“Huh,” came a dull voice from off to his side. “So that’s how it works.”

One by one the vines around his body slunk away. His arms dropped to his sides as they were released, and he gagged once as the vines pulled out of his mouth. Otherwise, he did not move. He could not move. He could hardly think.

“Welp, that was fun, I guess,” Flowey said, his voice lacking its usual cheer. “See you around, Papyrus!”

The flower dove into the ground, and Papyrus was by himself, feeling nothing other than the nagging sensation that something very important had been taken from him.


	5. Aftermath

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The smell of bones, the sight of magic, and the feeling of a soul.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the late chapter. See the end notes for more on that.
> 
> Don't worry, Flowey fans. See? I haven't forgotten our favorite serial murderer.

Sans had reached a point where firing a row of gaster blasters over the forest to burn down the trees felt like a reasonable option.

Ahead of him, Dogamy was helping up Dogaressa, who had knocked herself into yet another tree. The two had been on sentry duty that night, which Sans had initially thought was a stroke of good luck—the two could sniff out anything, and where Sans’s eyes would fail to find his brother in the forest of near-identical trees, their noses would be able to track him down.

In theory.

In reality, he’d forgotten to take the duo’s poor eyesight into consideration. They could smell things through the forest, yes, but they couldn’t always _see_ their way through the forest, and frequently bumped into trees. Or well, more frequently than Sans would have liked.

“So you’re sure we’re getting closer?” he asked, rushing up to the Dogi as they got to their feet. “You’re sniffing out the right smell, right?”

“Of course!” Dogamy replied. Sans couldn’t see his eyes, but he could pick up the offended tone in his voice. “What kind of dogs would we be if we couldn’t pick up the smell of _bones_?”

“Yeah, well, it’s not the smell of some…” Sans tossed his hands into the air helplessly. “…secret stash of dog bone treats or something, is it?”

“Well, no.” Dogaressa stole a glance at her husband. “That’s farther north, isn’t it?”

Any other time, Sans would have laughed at the joke, but now his fists clenched and his smile grew a bit too wide. “Please don’t say that right now,” he said, keeping his tone even and fighting to keep his sockets from going dim.

The Dogi both whined before sniffing the air again and moving on. “Just trying to lighten the mood,” Dogaressa muttered.

“…I appreciate it.” Sans’s shoulders drooped as he followed the sentries. “I do. But Papyrus is missing, and even I can’t take jokes right now.”

The two dogs exchanged glances before picking up the pace.

“Papyrus is a good sentry.” Dogamy stopped to take a whiff of air again before continuing. “He can’t track things like we can, but he’s strong.”

Dogaressa nodded. “Yes! I don’t know why he’d be out this late, but I’m sure he can take care of himself, whatever the trouble is.”

“If that were the case,” Sans muttered, “wouldn’t he be home by now?”

That silenced them. Part of him wished it hadn’t—that maybe they had some counterargument to quell his fears, but apparently they had nothing. Heaving a sigh, he continued to follow the Dogi, looking around the forest and hoping that _something_ would go right tonight, for once.

The wind wasn’t so harsh now, at least, and while the snow was still falling, it had dwindled to occasional flurries. He could count those as blessings, right? At least he had that going for him. And the Dogi _had_ picked up what they had assumed was his brother’s scent—he hoped. So they were on the right track, even if they weren’t there yet. They’d been searching for what felt like hours, but they would find Papyrus soon eno—

“ _YIKE—_!”

Dogamy toppled to the ground after tripping over a tree root, and Sans’s left eye flared with magic, on the verge of summoning a gaster blaster out of sheer frustration. Dogaressa let out a series of distressed barks, and he nearly did summon the blaster then, before he realized it wasn’t her husband she was barking at.

“Sans!” Dogamy cried, standing up and pointing his muzzle up ahead. “Smells like…”

“ _…bones_!” Dogaressa finished, pointing her muzzle in the same direction.

The blue-and-yellow glow faded from his eye and a cold rush came over him. “I-it’s him?” he stammered, then cleared his throat. “You found him? Up ahead?”

Tails wagging in confirmation, the Dogi began to rush forward before Sans took a shortcut in front of them, making them stagger back. “Woah, hold on there,” he said, holding his hands up. He hadn’t realized they were shaking until now. “Let me look first—we don’t know what we’re gonna find up there.”

The dogs exchanged confused glances. “But Sans,” Dogamy protested, “we can’t smell anyone else—”

“ _Shh_.” Sans glanced over his shoulder before turning around fully, creeping in the direction the Dogi’s snouts had been pointed in. His soul fluttered within him as he stomped through the deep snow, straining to see and hear what lay ahead.

There were definitely sounds.

He nearly jumped at the sound of something hitting the ground, and his magic reeled in panic. Whatever— _whoever_?—had hit the ground was being eased back up, and if he really strained, he could pick out the faintest sound of creaking.

Specifically, _bones_ creaking.

Drawing in a hissing breath, Sans charged forward, finding himself approaching a clearing. “Papyru—?!”

The name died on his metaphorical tongue, and his mind went blank of everything but the image of the slim, tall figure struggling to support itself against a tree trunk.

It took him a split second to recognize his brother, and he hated himself for it.

Papyrus staggered back, almost completely losing his balance, and frantically tried to cover his chest with his right arm and whatever he carried in his left. It took Sans a moment to realize why—his ribcage was bare, and he was holding his scarf and chest plate.

The _remains_ of his scarf and chest plate.

The red fabric was roughly torn in half, and the white-painted scrap metal was ruined. A few broken pieces of it dropped to the ground. When Sans’s eyes followed them, he saw that Papyrus was leaning his weight onto his right leg, his left lifted like that of a wounded Gyftrot. The leg was bruised at the joints and at a few spots in front of the tibia. Quickly he noticed that the right arm was bruised similarly, and was wrapped around his ribcage a little too gingerly. The ribcage itself was also bruised and there were even a few cracks straight through some of the ribs, and bruises on his spine, and his skull and his neck and dark tearstains over his cheeks—

Sans suddenly realized that the lights had gone from his eyes.

“S… Sans…?”

The weak voice—the voice that normally _shouted_ every word it spoke—shook him to the soul. Before he realized what he was doing, he was already approaching his brother, reaching a hand toward him hesitantly. “ _Papyrus_ ,” he whispered, forcing his pupils to flicker into view again. They were small, revealing the worry and pain and _fury_ that his permanent smile could not convey. “What happened?”

Trembling, Papyrus took a step back, caught his foot on a tree root, and started to fall.

Automatically Sans straightened his arm, his left eye flaring with magic as he reached out to catch his brother by the soul—

_3 HP._

_Magic reserves spent._

_Shame. Fear. Violation._

He set his brother down a little too quickly, his eyesockets wide and his breathing suddenly heavy.

Just a faint touch, and it told him too much—more, he knew, than Papyrus probably wanted him to know. The taller skeleton was now huddled on the ground, his arms wrapped around his chest and his legs drawn up close, and he wouldn’t even look at Sans.

For a moment, Sans could only stare at his brother. He was looking _down_ at him, for the first time in a long time—looking down at the skeleton that normally stood so tall and proud and strong. Suddenly he threw his arm out again, looking away, this time creating a row of glowing blue bones that scattered around the clearing—not to attack, but to lighten it enough for him to see.

The deep snow had been kicked up a lot around the center, and there were several furrows and holes where attacks had clearly torn through. A few trees even had scorch marks. But the strangest thing was how the snow seemed to have been plowed in the small area where his brother was now sitting—it had been deliberately cleared away.

Yet there was no sign of the attacker—not even footprints.

Sighing, he released the magic, and the bones faded into nothingness. He could hear Papyrus’s bones creaking as the skeleton continued to tremble, and cautiously approached his brother again. “Bro…” he whispered, hesitating for a moment before placing a hand on his brother’s shoulder.

He had to stagger back quickly as Papyrus’s long arm swung outward, nearly striking him. It wouldn’t have hit hard at all, and the way he weakly shuffled backward, barely managing to scoot back a few inches, revealed just how exhausted he was. His eyesockets were wide and his chest was heaving, but a few seconds later he froze, a deep guilt replacing the blind panic in his eyes.

“ _Sans_!” Dogaressa’s voice echoed through the forest, and both he and Papyrus snapped their heads in its direction. “What’s going on? Did you find him?”

Sans looked back at Papyrus, still sprawled on the ground, half his armor gone and looking like a frightened, wounded animal.

_Papyrus is a good sentry … he’s strong._

_I’m sure he can take care of himself, whatever the trouble is._

Swallowing, Sans turned back in the direction of the other sentries. “Everything’s fine,” he called back. “You can go on back to your posts. We’re gonna take another route back to town.”

There was a brief pause, during which he could hear the two talking quietly, before Dogamy replied: “Affirmative! Glad to be of help.”

He waited until he could hear the faint crunch of snow beneath their paws fade, then turned back to his brother, moving close to him again. Papyrus was looking more collected, now, but his arms were still wrapped tightly around his chest—or, his left one was, while his right was merely crossed in front of it—and the guilty look had not left his eyes.

Sans was about to speak, but Papyrus opened his mouth first. “I…” His voice was quiet and hoarse, struggling to remain steady. “Y-you just… startled me, S-Sans.” He was fighting a losing battle to try to smile—his jaw quivered, and his breathing still caught.

Maybe he wasn’t lying, but that wasn’t the whole story. Papyrus was bad at even partial lies and even worse at hiding his feelings, yet somehow seeing him try to cover his guilt like this made Sans feel all the worse. Both of them knew what he had felt in that brief touch from his brother’s soul.

_You let this happen,_ a dark voice told him. _This is your fault._

He shoved the thought aside, the lights in his eyes flaring with the effort. _Not now. Focus on Papyrus for now._ “What happened?” he asked, a little too firmly.

Dropping whatever attempt at a smile he’d mustered, Papyrus crossed his arms more tightly, avoiding his brother’s gaze. “N… n…”

It was either a “nothing” or a “no,” and he realized he wasn’t going to get an answer out of him right now. He heaved a sigh, giving his brother a softer look. “Look, Papyrus… we need to get you home.” He reached out to place his hand on his brother’s shoulder, but thought better of it, and pulled it away. “Can you stand?” Of course he knew the answer to that one, but he wanted to give his brother the chance to at least _try_.

Papyrus shut his eyes, drawing in a shaking breath. Slowly he pulled his left arm away from his ribcage and braced it against the ground, struggling to lift himself. His arms and legs shook as he tried to shift his legs beneath him, and suddenly he yelped, reaching out to grab his injured leg.

Sans had seen enough; he shut his eyes, turning away for a moment before stooping down next to his brother. “I’ll carry you.”

Papyrus drew in a hissing breath, looking over at his brother in alarm before staring down at his knees. His arm shakily wrapped itself around his ribcage again, and it wasn’t to hide the exposed bone. “But…”

Sighing, Sans shut his eyes again, then stood upright as an idea struck him. “Let me see your arms for a sec, bro,” he said, stepping back.

Papyrus gave him a worried look, though he was unable to look him in the eyes.

“It’s… it’s _me_ , bro.” Sans felt his proverbial stomach sink as Papyrus kept his arms wrapped around his chest. He stooped down again, looking him in the eye. “ _Please_ trust me.”

Hesitating for a few moments, Papyrus finally held out his right arm, which trembled and waved, as though he was having trouble holding it up.

Expression softening, Sans whipped off his hoodie and carefully pulled it over Papyrus’s arm. He walked behind him, easing it over his back, and gave a faint, genuine smile when his brother willingly held out his other arm. Once the hoodie was on, he crouched at his brother’s side again, reaching to the bottom of the hoodie and zipping it up, hiding the cracked and bruised ribs.

It fit him better than he’d expected, and Sans stood back, admiring his work. “There. Looks good on you, Paps.”

Papyrus stared down at the hoodie, his jaw quivering again. His chest was heaving, and the edges of his eyesockets were starting to gleam with tears.

Feeling a tightness in his chest, himself, Sans knelt down next to his brother. “C-c’mon,” he said, holding out his arms. “Go ahead.”

And Papyrus threw his arms around him, burying his head in his shoulder and leaning as much of his weight into him as he dared. His sobs were quiet and intermixed with whimpers as he tried, and failed, to hold himself back.

Sans was more successful, being the one with more practice. He could hold back tears—they were easier to contain than the fuming, raging _anger_ that was starting to boil within his soul. He wanted to tear the forest apart until he found whatever sick creature had done this to his brother. He wanted to throw it against the walls of the cavern until it cried out for the mercy he was never going to give. He wanted to fire a gaster blaster at it, hit it with a constant stream of offensive magic until there was nothing left but a smoldering pile of ash in its place.

Papyrus lifted his head with a whimper, and Sans realized he himself had begun shaking.

He swallowed, forcing down the rage and trying to keep his focus on the most important thing. “It’s okay,” he said, rubbing circles into his brother’s back, and sighed when Papyrus leaned into him again.

“I-I…” His brother’s voice choked in another sob. “I th-thought… you w-wouldn’t c-come…”

The words were like icicles ramming into his soul, and he held Papyrus tighter, pulling him closer. “No. _No_ , bro, I’d never leave you.” It was getting harder to hold back his own emotions, but he managed—he had to. “I never stopped looking.”

Papyrus said nothing more after that, and Sans held him until his sobs gradually quieted into shaky, deep breaths. He continued to rub circles into his back, and tried to make himself grin. “It’s… it’s going _tibia_ okay,” he said, wincing. Puns didn’t come so easily in situations like this—they felt forced. “There’s _snow_ need to stay out here all night.”

Slowly he loosened his grip on his brother and pulled back, and Papyrus did the same. He looked even more exhausted than before, if that were possible, looking like he would lose consciousness any minute.

To be honest, Sans didn’t feel much better.

“Wanna head home?” he asked, giving his brother’s shoulder a careful squeeze.

Papyrus hung his head, but nodded.

Now to figure out how to do it. He could not physically lift his brother, but there was still the option of picking him up by his soul…

The taller skeleton seemed to pick up on what he was thinking, and shakily crossed his arms.

No, that would be too intrusive. That left one other option, and Sans drew in a breath. “Okay,” he said, glancing back at the ground behind him and picking up the broken chest plate and torn scarf that Papyrus had dropped earlier. He held them out to his brother, who scooped them into his good arm, not without a look of confusion. “Just… hold onto those, and keep still, all right?”

He hesitated—he’d never shown Papyrus this before, but it was either this, dragging him through the snow, or hauling him home by the soul. Hopefully he would handle the surprise all right—or just be too tired to even think about it. “We’re, uh, gonna take a shortcut.” He took his brother’s free hand in both of his and gave it a gentle squeeze. “Ready?”

Papyrus stared at him wearily, then nodded.

And in a blink, they were gone.

 

* * *

 

Flowey had remained at the far edge of the clearing.

He hadn’t really _needed_ to be there, but it wasn’t like he’d had anything that needed to be done that very moment. Besides, he’d been curious about what Papyrus would do when the skeleton thought he was gone.

Unfortunately, the answer turned out to be “nothing much.” He’d just stayed slumped up against the tree, not moving, but not passing out or anything, either.

He’d supposed he wasn’t surprised—he’d felt Papyrus’s energy slowly sapping away with every struggle he made beneath his vines. His magic, too, had worn out pretty quickly.

Maybe that was why that last bit had been so disappointing.

A lifetime ago, _they_ had sneaked him a book that their parents didn’t want them reading. He hadn’t wanted to look at it—not then—but they had convinced him to at least take a peek. There was very little he remembered about it—he’d nervously skimmed over most of the words—but there was one part that stuck out.

It was supposed to be beautiful. There would be colors and magic twirling together, souls visible and fluttering. It was the closest, the most intimate that two monsters could be.

But he hadn’t read how to _get_ to that point. He’d had the vaguest of ideas (the clothes needed to be gone, at least), but back then, he hadn’t really cared to know. True, now he could have just sneaked into the Snowdin library to see if he could find more information on the subject, but what would be the fun in that? No, it would be more interesting to figure it out for himself.

So once he’d gotten Papyrus mostly still and his armor off, he’d experimented—seeing what would happen if he touched him this way, that way. Watching what got his magic to react. Observing his reaction to different movements. Finally he’d gotten the reaction he wanted, and built it up, and…

It had been a little gray ribbon of magic. That was all. No bright colors, no dancing magic, no—well, no, his soul had been showing, but it hadn’t been looking too good.

He’d done everything right, from what he could tell. Clearly something was wrong with Papyrus.

Well, whatever. He supposed it wasn’t all _that_ important, anyway—not in the long run. He could try it again with some other monster another time. What was important was his plan for this run… and for _that_ , it had definitely worked, as far as he could tell.

If all that was the most intimate act two monsters could commit, then it could also be the most intrusive—the most violating. And given what happened to Papyrus, that seemed to ring true.

Speaking of, the skeleton hadn’t moved, and Flowey had begun to wonder if he’d actually fallen down when he suddenly stirred.

Flowey had watched as he slowly, shakily crawled over to his discarded clothing and armor, trying to pull it on again. _Good luck with that,_ he’d thought, rolling his eyes. _Golly, Papyrus, do you really think you have any dignity left after this?_

But Papyrus had managed, somehow, putting on everything but the scarf and chest plate Flowey had ruined. Those he had scooped into his arms, staring at them for a while, before trying to stand up. And failing.

Several times.

It might have been funny, Flowey had mused as he watched the skeleton fall over again and again. He’d forced himself to giggle as he watched. _What are you even trying to do? Do you really think you can just walk home after this?_

At some point he’d considered just leaving him and wandering off to think over the next part of his plan… and then _he_ had showed up.

He hated, _hated_ that smiley trashbag, but oh, he’d imagined it would feel _good_ to see his face when that piece of garbage saw his brother like this. Of course, Flowey could feel nothing, but it was nice to pretend.

That was what he was making this timeline about, after all.

Flowey had paid utmost attention as the shorter skeleton tried to grab Papyrus by the soul—a bit of magic unique to those two, from what he could tell. He’d grinned when the trashbag had dropped him and recoiled, wondering what Papyrus’s soul felt like now. It had looked pale and gross when he’d seen it, but he wished he could _feel_ it like those skeletons could.

Maybe it was like a warm, sticky red feeling… or maybe it was a heavy, dead weight feeling… or a burning, empty feeling, like turning to…

He stopped thinking about it.

The smiley trashbag had slipped his hoodie over his brother’s shoulders and stooped down to hug him, and suddenly Flowey had begun to feel gross. It wasn’t a true emotion—just a visceral reaction to seeing garbage mix with more garbage.

_What’s that supposed to do?_ he’d raged. _His soul is damaged, you idiot. You can’t_ do _anything for him._ But then he’d forced himself to smile, tilting his head. _Actually... go ahead! Go on thinking you can help him. It’ll only make you_ break _that much harder when you find out you can’t._

And then, after hugging and crying and doing whatever gross things siblings did, they’d disappeared.

Flowey was now by himself in the clearing, staring at the spot where they’d been seconds before. That was a bit unexpected—he’d never seen the trashbag teleport with his brother in tow before. It might be interesting to follow them and see if Papyrus would flip out at his brother for hiding something like that from him, but he’d had as much as he could take of those two for the night.

Or, morning. It was getting to be about that time, now.

And anyway, he hadn’t started this timeline to just passively watch the events unfold. That was interesting for a while, but things would peter out if he left them be. He had to keep this moving if he wanted to get the results he wanted.

It was time to work out the next part of his plan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not sure what possessed me to think that I could keep up with a new-chapter-every-day schedule. Cranking out fourteen thousand words in this short amount of time has been quite the feat for me, but I'm afraid the new chapters will be coming out slower now. Unless I'm hit with a sudden burst of writing energy, anyway.
> 
> I will try to get out at least one chapter a week, though. Maybe more, if I can manage it. I will be trying to work on this every day, while I have the time.
> 
> Thanks for sticking with me, readers.


	6. Traces

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Resting, cleaning, remembering.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well this took longer than I anticipated. Let's just say there's a reason I chose this username.

He summoned another array of bones, flinging them out in a line in front of him, darting up and down through the snow, and yet he could still sense it getting closer. Next went another bone formation in a white-blue-white-blue pattern, moving quickly—that always worked, and yet he could _still_ sense it getting closer...

“What are you doing, bro? You got this.”

_I know, I know, I can handle it!_ But then why weren’t any of his attacks hitting…?!

Frantically he sent out another wave, this time of shorter white bones. This _had_ to trip it up—but it was getting even closer now…!

“C’mon, Papyrus! I know you can do better than this! Did you seriously forget all of our training?”

_No, Undyne, I didn’t forget—I’m doing everything I can remember, I swear I am!_

His energy was quickly draining, far faster than it should have, and _it_ would be on him in seconds. In desperation he threw up a shield of blue bones in front of himself, and against all rules of magic it passed _through_ the attacks as though they were nothing, and…

...and he was rammed against the tree, cold and exposed, feeling the rough bark against his bare back, the restraints against his limbs, and the vine prodding at his chest, wrapping around his spine, tracing up his leg—

Papyrus awoke with a yelp, curling up on himself and burying his face into his knees, drawing in shaky breaths. It took him a moment to realize that he was not feeling the cold ground against his bare bones, but instead something warm and soft all around him.

Uncurling a little, he blinked, seeing not the forest, but his own house—the living room, to be exact. He was lying on the couch, his head propped up with a pillow and a blanket covering his body. He didn’t remember getting here or falling asleep on the couch, and yet here he was.

...Had it all been a dream?

He moved to stretch his legs, only to gasp as his left leg throbbed in pain. No, probably not a dream, then. Experimentally he shifted his right arm, and his wrist instantly ached. _Definitely_ not a dream. As he continued to shift around, he became aware of the aches all around his body, as well as the feeling of—

Papyrus whimpered, drawing his legs in close and wrapping his arms around himself. Why did he still feel like he was _crawling_ with vines? Flowey wasn’t still here, was he? Slowly he eased himself up on his good arm so he could get a better look around the room, only to pause when he noticed something else.

_Sleeves?_ He hadn’t worn a shirt with sleeves in ages—not since he’d gotten his battle body, anyway. But these sleeves were blue, and soft, and…

Sans’s hoodie. That’s right—Sans had lent him his hoodie when he’d… when he’d found him.

Papyrus wanted to curl up under the blanket and stay there forever.

Sans had seen him—he’d seen him crumpled up and defeated, half his armor gone and his face messy from tears. Not that Sans had never seen him in an embarrassing situation, but this… He was a sentry! A _guard_! Not a royal guard perhaps, but it was still his job to defend Snowdin, and… and how was he supposed to do that when he couldn’t defend himself?

How was he supposed to defend _Sans_?

He couldn’t. That was the answer—he couldn’t defend Sans, and Sans knew it. He’d seen what had happened to him. He’d… seen what had happened to his soul.

It still felt _wrong_. It hurt, but it wasn’t like a physical pain—it was something deeper than that. Whatever had… happened, then, had done something to him—something he still didn’t understand. The magic had come from his soul, as it always did, but this felt like something had been pulled from him—torn from him, ripped away, and it would never come back. It left him feeling empty and sick and _violated_ —

He forced the thoughts away, wiping the tears from his face. _Stop_ , he thought. _Sans already saw you like this last night… he doesn’t need to see you like this again. You’re safe now._

Was he? Cautiously he lifted up his blanket, just to be sure there weren’t really vines still prodding at him.

_They’re not there.  You know they’re not! Stop worrying about it. It’s over—you’re safe and you need to stop worrying. Sans doesn’t need you to be upset over this._ Papyrus turned onto his back, staring up at the ceiling. _You’re safe, you’re at home, you’re safe. There’s no reason to be scared or to cry. Flowey’s not here._

And just as he was about to close his eyes to accept this, a soft sound at his side made his magic rush in panic. He yelped, sitting up, and the only thing he could think of was to move away from the source of the sound. Frantically he scrambled backward, which only pressed him up against the arm of the couch, nearly toppling over it. His chest heaved as he watched something push itself up off the floor next to the couch—

“Bro?” Sans mumbled, rubbing one of his eyesockets. “What’s wrong?”

…Of course it was Sans. Who else would it have been?

Papyrus forced himself to breathe normally, slumping forward and glancing down at the blanket that still covered his legs. “I-it’s nothing,” he replied, feeling a twinge of guilt.

Sans yawned, stretching, his bones popping and cracking, and Papyrus suddenly realized his brother had been sleeping on the floor. “Good to see you’re up,” he sighed, giving a very fake casual smile. “Feel any—” He paused, then cleared his throat. “How do you feel?”

“I… I think my HP is recovered—” He took a moment to read his soul, and found this to be mostly true, though he wasn’t at full health. “But I’m still a little sore.” Examining his right hand, he pulled up the cuff of his glove and began to massage his wrist—the carpals still ached. And on top of that… he still felt…

Off to his side he noticed the faint twitch at the corner of Sans’s smile. “Can you heal?”

Right, his magic. Closing his eyes, Papyrus held his left hand to his injured wrist, and…

…nothing.

The gnawing, empty feeling returned to his chest, and he automatically wrapped his arms around his ribcage. “I-it doesn’t look like my magic’s… r-regenerated yet.”

He could tell Sans was studying him, and he shuffled uncomfortably, pulling the blanket up higher. _Don’t look at me like that. I don’t know why. I don’t know what happened…_ For all he knew, his magic had been permanently stolen, but somehow that didn’t seem right, either.

Sans pulled himself up onto the couch, taking a seat next to his brother. “If you want, later, we could see about taking you to the innkeeper,” he suggested, still trying to sound casual. “She heals the kids that run ‘round the town when they get hurt sometimes.”

Papyrus tried to hum in thought, but it came out as more of a whimper instead, so he cut himself off with a cough. The idea of visiting the inn would normally be appealing—the innkeeper was always kind to him and usually gave him a piece of candy, but now… the thought of letting _any_ of the townsfolk see him, a sentry, in a state like this after having completely failed his duty…

Suddenly the thought struck him—who knew about what happened to him? He only barely remembered when Sans had found him, and he’d heard voices—someone had come with him. Did they know? …Did they tell anyone _else_?

He realized he’d curled up on himself again, and Sans had given up on making his smile look casual and was giving him a full look of concern. Sighing, he forced himself to straighten, sitting upright again. “I-I can’t have anyone else… know about this,” he muttered, pulling at the blanket in his lap. Forcing himself to meet his brother’s gaze, he gave him a worried look. “Y-you didn’t…?”

“Dogamy and Dogaressa helped me find you, but they don’t know,” Sans answered. His hands made a motion at his sides, and he looked down in a brief moment of confusion before crossing his arms. “I won’t tell anyone.”

Papyrus felt the tiniest bit of relief at that.

“But…”

And he stiffened, staring down at the blanket again.

Sans shifted on his seat, his eyes downcast. “You don’t have to answer me right now…

but I’d like to know what happened.”

Papyrus gripped the blanket tightly in his hands until his right wrist hurt. What was he supposed to say? _‘A flower I’ve been friends with suddenly attacked me, stripped my armor, and—’_ He shuddered, feeling the sickness in his middle and fighting the urge to curl up again at the memory. No, he couldn’t say that—how was he even supposed to mention Flowey when the flower was always so insistent that he never tell anyone about him?

…Was Flowey even his friend anymore, after all this? After what he’d done?

_I… did tell him “yes”…_ he mused, feeling that gnawing, empty feeling within him. _He hurt me, but… I told him that he could… could do what he wanted…_ He’d tried to change his mind later, but apparently that had been unacceptable. That made sense, he supposed. It was rude to back out of an agreement like that. But then, Flowey had attacked him _before_ that, but—maybe he had just forgotten to ask, before?

His head hurt. It… it didn’t matter. _Flowey—he’s not a bad person. He can’t be. No one can be truly bad. He had… some reason for what he did. I don’t know what it was, but… I… I believe in him._

Something about that thought made his soul give a pained throb, and he _did_ curl up that time, leaning his head against his knees.

“Hey,” Sans whispered, and Papyrus felt him lean closer and rub his back. “It’s okay. It’s okay; you don’t have to tell me yet, bro.”

That was good, since now he didn’t even know what to tell himself anymore.

As Sans rubbed his back, he suddenly became aware of how damp the back of the hoodie he wore was. Right, from the snow that had gathered in his ribcage. Ugh. There was probably still dirt clinging to his bones, too, and…

His brother pulled his hand away, eying the back of the hoodie before looking up at him again. “You wanna go change?”

“Yes,” he answered quickly, rubbing one of his sleeves. “And… maybe wash down.”

Without another word, Sans hopped off the couch and headed into the kitchen, returning shortly with a bucket of soapy water in his hands and a towel and washcloth slung over his shoulder. It was nice, Papyrus mused, to see his brother being so eager to help… though this wasn’t something he particularly _needed_ help with.

Sans, unused to the action, grimaced as he began to haul the bucket up the stairs. Seeing that, Papyrus frowned, pushing the blanket off to the side. Normally he would fold it, but there wasn’t exactly time if he wanted to help his brother. He carefully eased himself onto his feet, cringing at the pain in his left leg, and limped over to the stairs.

“Oh, bro, you don’t have to do that.” Sans grunted as he pulled the bucket up another step, nearly sloshing water over the stairs. “I got it.”

“No, let me.” Gritting his teeth, Papyrus began to limp up the stairs, reaching for the bucket with his good hand. His brother hesitantly held it out to him, looking ready to either snatch it (or him) in case something happened. But he gripped the handle and hoisted it up with a grunt—it wasn’t too heavy for him, but it nearly threw him off-balance, since carrying it with his good arm meant putting more weight on his bad leg. “I-I can…”

The stairs were wide enough for the both of them to stand side-by-side, and Sans kept next to him as he made his way up the stairs. The joints in his bad leg felt like one of Undyne’s spears had been stabbed through them by the time they reached the second floor, but he made it.

Better to have sore bones than wounded pride.

Setting the bucket down to give his tired limbs a rest for a moment, he heaved a sigh. “That’s done… Now m-maybe I can get ready in time for work.”

“Work?” Sans cocked an eyebrow. “Uh, little late for that, bro. It’s past noon.”

“Wh— _what_?!” Papyrus’s head snapped in the direction of the wall clock, and he wilted at seeing that his brother was right. “But then who’s going to—”

“Already texted the dogs to let them know, so Doggo and Lesser Dog know to be a bit more alert today.” Picking up the bucket again, the shorter skeleton headed through the open door (wait, when had he left it open?) into Papyrus’s room, carefully setting the bucket, towel, and washcloth on the floor in front of his bed. “There. Just take it easy today, okay bro?”

At first Papyrus was about to protest before he felt another spike of pain up his leg, and he realized that maybe today _wouldn’t_ be the best day to stand at his post and walk around, checking his puzzles for hours on end. ...Especially since that would mean walking through the woods—somewhere he very much did not want to be right now. Shivering, he limped into his room, staring down at the towels on the floor.

Sans, meanwhile, was stepping out, grabbing the door handle as he did. “I’ll be downstairs if you need me,” he said, carefully shutting the door behind him.

Well, time to get started.

Opening his closet door, he found his old outfits hung neatly on the hangers within, while a few drawers at the bottom contained more folded clothes. None of them had seen much wear since he and Sans had made his battle body, and felt a sinking feeling in his middle when he realized that it would be some time before he would be able to wear _that_ again… if he was ever able to.

He pulled out a tee and a loose pair of sweatpants, set them on his computer desk for the time being, and took a seat on his bed.

As he began to remove his gloves and boots, he felt a sense of unease spread over him, making him shiver. Suddenly he found himself feeling rather uncomfortable at the aspect of disrobing, but… how else was he supposed to get clean? His legs were caked in dirt, meaning his ribcage and pelvis were probably in the same state. On top of that, he needed to get rid of that… the feeling of vines still crawling around him. He swore he could still feel them on his wrists and ankles and neck, and…

Papyrus shuddered, decisively unzipping the hoodie he wore and slipping it off before he could think about that too much. Immediately he felt far too exposed, and wrapped his arms around his ribcage, which was still covered in bruises and cracks, and—as he’d expected—dirt. _This is ridiculous,_ he thought, shutting his eyes. _There’s no one to hide from—no one else is here. Nobody can see you._ Yet still he shivered, unable to shake the feeling that someone else was in the room, eying his bruised ribcage and spine.

Opening his eyes with a sharp gasp, he looked frantically around the room, but sure enough, he was alone.

_You’re being a baby bones_ , he thought, glaring down at the floor. _There’s… there’s no reason to be scared. You’ll feel better when you’re clean._

He just had to get the last part of his armor off, then he could wash down, change into clean clothes, and be done with it. Gritting his teeth, he stood up to slip the last part off, and—

—for a moment he felt he was in the forest again, the vines forcefully yanking his armor off, leaving him fully exposed and vulnerable and grabbing at his legs and—

Papyrus snapped back to reality, finding himself crouched on the floor and gripping the side of his race car bed for support. His every bone was rattling, and tears were rolling down his face. _Ugh… stop._ He scrubbed at his eyesockets, sitting down and kicking off his armor, which had slid around his ankles. _What kind of guard am I if I’m… if I’m going to be so jumpy over silly things like this?_

Still, he hated feeling so exposed like this—it hadn’t bothered him the last time he’d washed his bones, but now he felt like he was opening himself up to danger again—to being prodded at, to being hurt, to having his magic taken out of him…

He shut his eyesockets again, trying to focus. _This is stupid. I can’t let some silly attack that was… that was probably my fault anyway… get in my way. I’ve just got to move on and be stronger next time. That’s… that’s all._ Shaking his head, he picked up the washcloth and dipped it in the bucket, grateful that the water was still warm, and began to wash down his arms.

At least the feeling of a warm, soapy washcloth was nothing like the feeling of squirming, intrusive vines.

It was harder to wash than he’d originally anticipated. He was right-handed, but it hurt his joints to move that arm around too much, so he did as best as he could with his left hand. He had to be careful around his ribs, which were still tender, and found himself shuddering involuntarily when he cleaned the inside. The back of his spine was sore, but the warm water on it was at least a little soothing. The dirt came easily off of his legs (though he had to be gentle around his joints), and it didn’t take long to clean his feet, but…

Papyrus shut his eyes. He hadn’t been looking forward to this part.

Quickly he washed over his pelvis, as fast as he could while still getting the dirt off. He kept his mind on the task, focusing entirely on getting it clean while trying to block out the memories of just _why_ he had dirt there in the first place. Normally he didn’t care one way or the other about washing this, but now it was like he was engaging in battle with his own thoughts, trying to keep his defenses up, lest the memories of last night be dragged to the forefront of his mind.

He managed it. His bones were clean, but mentally he felt exhausted. He hung the washcloth over the rim of the bucket and wrapped the towel around his body, glad to be covered by _something_ again, and… remained sitting in front of his bed, staring blankly at the floor.

_I should stand up,_ he thought, but he found he didn’t particularly feel like moving. All he’d done was wash, yet he felt like he’d just brainstormed over five different puzzles.

It took some amount of willpower, but he eventually grabbed a corner of his towel and pulled it over to his right arm to towel it dry.

A vine slithered up his humerus.

Papyrus _leaped_ , scrambling to get away, his magic reserves groaning like an empty stomach when he automatically tried to summon a bone to help, and he suddenly felt something hit against his leg and heard a loud _thump_ followed by something cold hitting him and he made it to the far wall before curling up on himself, preparing to fight off the vines if they made another move for him and…

...and…

There were no vines, and he’d just knocked over the bucket, spilling cold, soapy water all over his rug.

Papyrus stared at the mess, then held his head in his hands.

_Why couldn’t he just go back to normal?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would like to mention something, in case there is any confusion whatsoever: I do not condone in any way what Flowey did to Papyrus, nor do I believe Papyrus (or anyone who is put into a situation like this) is at fault. Papyrus here is having a bad time working through what happened to him. I truly do not want to misrepresent the crime that was committed in this story, so if you feel I am doing so, please let me know.


	7. Change of Plan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Carrots, spaghetti, and dog treats.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Remember when I said I'd try to update once a week? Hah, hah. Sorry about that. I hope this makes up for it.
> 
> I have some good news, though (other than the new chapter itself). We now have a cover! The link's in the fanfic summary. Needed a cover for the fanfic to stand out better over on FanFiction.Net, and I figured I'd link it here too. Why not.
> 
> In even better news, we also have fanart! SpinalBaby drew [this heartbreaking scene](http://spinalbaby.tumblr.com/post/137329647219/a-little-bit-of-fan-art-for-an-undertale-fic-i) from Chapter 4. Poor Papyrus...
> 
> One last thing. If you haven't seen all the changes from the latest Undertale patch, then one bit toward the end of the chapter here may seem a little jarring. Sans, you are a strange skeleton. 
> 
> That's all for now. I should make some attempt at a regular update schedule, but I'm about as good as Sans when it comes to keeping promises...

The forest was quiet, but not silent. It was not snowing, and there was only the faintest breath of wind, but that was enough to make the trees sway and groan, and to cause the loose snow to hiss across the heavier layers beneath. The branches were still loaded with snow from the storm the night before, and every so often, one would snap beneath its burden, falling to the ground with a soft _crunch_. It was beautiful, he supposed, in a rather simple way.

He remembered the king was one of those kinds of people who could admire simple beauty no matter how many times he saw it. He could look at the expansive capital city, the peaceful flower bed in the throne room, and the fleeting patches of sunlight shining down from the surface again and again, and never get tired of it.

But Flowey was not one of those kinds of people, and the sight of the forest bored him.

Sure, it had been pretty the first few times, and he’d spent a few timelines—some of his earlier ones—exploring the snowy woods. Now, though, it was boring. It was the same snow, the same trees, and the same stupid, boring monsters that walked through the same tracks every single timeline unless he forcibly yanked them somewhere else.

It _should_ have been different today, though, given what he’d done last night. If he knew Papyrus—and he was pretty sure he did after hanging around him for so many timelines—the skeleton would try to bounce back from this as soon as he could, whether he was ready to or not. Yet there had been no sign of him all day—he’d checked all the puzzles a few times to no avail, and now he waited on a hill in the woods, close enough to Papyrus’s sentry station that he could see it, but far enough back that _he_ wouldn’t be seen.

Not much a point in remaining hidden if there was no target to hide _from_ , though.

Maybe the smiley trashbag would show up instead? That might be interesting, too! He wasn’t ready to do anything to the idiot right this moment, but he could at least watch him. That would provide some entertainment in the meantime, and maybe give him an idea of what sort of condition Papyrus was in now. He imagined trashy was probably out hunting for whoever had hurt his brother, but, you know, good luck with that. Papyrus would never admit he’d been bested by a flower.

At this point, though, he would be satisfied with just seeing the worthless lump shuffle by guzzling ketchup. Anything was preferable to seeing the same sights and hearing the same stupid, repetitive—

“Hey! Chill! Over here!”

Flowey bashed his face into the snow, then lifted it to glare down the hill. Yes, of course, the snowdrake kids got into their argument here. There was the blue one, standing up eagerly at the foot of a tree while the more greenish-feathered one pushed through the snow, carrying a plastic lunchbox in his wing.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m comin’, Snowy.”

“I’m sooo hungry,” Flowey muttered under his breath.

“I’m sooo hungry,” Snowy whined, stamping his talons in the snow.

Shaking his head to get the snow out of his petals, Flowey turned away from the kids, trying to think. Maybe he’d overestimated Papyrus’s stamina—maybe he’d be too tired to go to work today after last night.

“You like carrots, right?”

“They’re okay. They don’t _rot_ my teeth! Ha-ha!”

 _Ugh_ , now he remembered why he’d avoided this snowdrake for the past few timelines. It was like listening to a younger version of the trashbag that told _worse_ jokes. He settled deeper into the snow, trying to tune out the conversation like one would attempt to tune out a bad commercial. Anyway, what was the hold-up? Papyrus didn’t sleep all _that_ much, and he could usually bounce back pretty quickly from a bad fight.

“Good one, Snowy! Here you go.”

“Oh, you have…”

Though he supposed what he had done was a bit _worse_ than a bad fight, and the whole point of it was to put Papyrus out of sorts. Still, he’d like to move on with the plan.

“Hey, those’re mine!”

“C’mon, I haven’t had any cheesy curls in weeks!”

“Go steal some, then. Be a _real_ rebel!”

“I’d—um—I’m too _cool_ to rebel.”

That was a stupid pun. Where was he…? Oh, yes, maybe if Papyrus’s garbage brother showed up, he could see about working his plan around that. Direct interaction with the trashbag didn’t come up until later, but maybe he could spare rearranging a few of the steps.

“What are you talking about? You’re already a rebel!”

“No I’m not!”

“Snowy, you ran away from home!”

“But… but that’s…”

Forget it. He couldn’t focus over this grating banter. With a frustrated growl, Flowey shot a glare down at the teenage monsters. The least they could do is say something _interesting_.

“It’s _totally_ being a rebel!”

“B-but I didn’t really _want_ to a rebel! I want to be a—a comedian.”

“So go back to the resort,” Flowey mocked, looking around the forest in boredom. “That would be _different_ for once.”

“So go back to the resort! You could be a comedian there.”

“But my dad’s so _cold_ to me…”

“Buck up, then! Show ‘im who’s boss!”

Snowy gave an uncertain whine.

“Well if you’re not gonna _do_ something about it, at least stop whining and taking my snack food!”

“But I’m _hungry_!”

“Get your own stuff sometime!”

“This isn’t very n- _ice_ of you!”

Oh, that was it. If they weren’t going to change things up, he’d have to do it himself. “Let’s see how well you can tell your lame snow puns _beneath_ the snow,” Flowey muttered, and a vine whipped up around the trunk of the tree that the teens were standing under. He gave the old tree a forceful shake, hoping to loose the snow from its branches.

But the tree wobbled a bit too much, snow falling around the snowdrakes but not avalanching on top of them like he’d hoped. All the creaking and groaning caused the teens to stop from their conversation, just for the moment.

“D-do you hear something?” Chill pulled his sunglasses down to look around the forest.

_Ugh, what’s wrong with this tree? Move, you stupid—_

The vine gave a forceful shake, and sure enough, a large clump of snow fell from a branch and hit the blue snowdrake square in the head.

And the trunk cracked.

Despite not having ears, Flowey was startled by just how _loud_ the sound of a tree falling could be. Without thinking, he pressed a couple leaves over his side petals, but nothing could block out the _roar_ that filled the air as the tree tipped down, down, _down_. He picked up on the sound of screaming over the noise, and suddenly craned his stem outward, grinning widely in interest. This was new.

It was impossible to tell just what the sea green snowdrake was screeching over the echoes of the roar, but Flowey could guess, given that the blue snowdrake’s head and left wing were sticking out from under the fallen trunk. He was gagging and gasping and flailing his free wing, the feathers of which were starting to flake off into a distinctively gray powder.

“SNOWY!” the other snowdrake was screaming, flapping his wings and digging his talons desperately at the snow around the other monster.

Said snow was starting to look a little gray, too. Flowey giggled.

 _Oops_.

“HELP! SOMEONE!”

As he surveyed the situation, listening to the sound of dogs barking and howling at each other in the distance, it occurred to him that he’d inadvertently changed up the game plan. But no matter.

He could work this into his favor.

 

* * *

 

The bartender glared down at him, which was impressive, given Sans couldn’t see any eyes behind those glasses.

“Yeah, Grillby, I know. Like I said, when she comes in, just add it to my tab, okay? I’ll pay you at the end of the week, same as always. Or _mostly_ always.” He winked. “You’ve got- _tab_ -be easy on me for now, okay? I’ve got, uh… things going on. And she’s doing me a favor.” He rocked back on the bar stool, putting on a jovial expression, though he felt anything but.

Grillby whispered something in a low crackle.

“Oh.” Sans brushed at the stomach of his turtleneck shirt. “Well, I’ll come _clean_ to ya—it’s in the wash. Spilled ketchup last night.”

Another crackle. A few beads of sweat trickled down the back of Sans’s skull, and it wasn’t from the heat radiating off of the monster in front of him.

“...Okay.” He glanced around the restaurant. It was a couple hours after noon—a pretty dead hour, given most people had taken their lunch earlier—but he wasn’t going to take any chances. Leaning against the bar, he lowered his voice. “Yeah, something happened last night. But I can’t really say anything now, you got me?”

Grillby regarded him silently.

“I really can’t.” His smile grew a bit wider. “ _Tibia_ honest, if I didn’t have things to take care of right now, I’d probably be ordering a few.” He drew in a breath, smile becoming strained. “But, can’t do that, with the way things are.”

No answer.

If Sans had nails, they would be digging into the countertop by now. As it was, he tapped the counter a few times before pounding his fist against it, covering his eyes with his other hand. “Papyrus is in a bad way. Please do this for me.”

Grillby stared, then slowly gave a nod.

Sans caught the movement through the gaps in his phalanges, and heaved a sigh, leaning back again. “Thanks, pal. I owe you one.” His grin became a bit more genuine, and a small laugh escaped him. “Literally, I mean. I’ll get the money to you when I can. See ya.”

With a small wave, he hopped off the stool and strode out the door.

And kicked up a cloud of snow.

“So much for not telling anyone,” he grumbled under his breath. Granted, he hadn’t told Grillby any specifics, but it was still more than he’d wanted to say in the first place. This was why he hated making promises.

He didn’t have time to stand around and be mad at himself; Papyrus would finish drying his carpet soon, and would wonder where he was. On top of that, his guest would be arriving soon, too. Straightening his back and, out of habit, trying to put his hands into pockets that were not there, Sans took the shortcut home.

Upon arriving in the living room, he was disappointed, albeit not surprised, to find it empty. He mounted the stairs, rapping his knuckles against Papyrus’s door. “Hey, Paps, you…” _...doing all right? You know the answer to that, bonehead._ “...gonna be out soon?”

“...Yes.” Sans had to strain to hear his brother’s voice. “G-give me a few minutes, brother.”

Normally he could hear Papyrus from anywhere in the house—even when Sans was in his lab and Papyrus was in his room. But now, hearing him speak so quietly…

As soon as he found whoever did this to his brother, he would dust them faster than you could say “hot dog.” ...No, that was too slow. Faster than you could say “‘dog,” then. Faster than—

_Knock, knock._

Sans was suddenly aware that his eye was glowing again, and he put it out quickly, heading down to the first floor to answer the door.

The innkeeper—a slim rabbit in a yellow and blue dress—gazed down at him with a polite smile. “Hello, um, Sans?”

“That’s my name,” Sans replied with a half-smile, stepping back from the door. “Come on in.”

The rabbit did so, glancing around the house, her ears swiveling. “You said your brother needed a bit of patching up?” she asked, casting an uncertain look around the room. “Is he around?”

“Yeah, he’ll be down in a moment.” Sans shuffled over to the couch, bunching up the blanket that was still strewn over the cushions and tossing it to one side. He took a seat and motioned for the innkeeper to do the same. “Everything’s all set at Grillby’s, by the way. You can pick up your lunch there when you’re done.”

“Oh, thank you.” The innkeeper walked a bit closer to the couch, but did not sit down, staring up into the upper floor instead.

Sans’s brow furrowed as he followed her gaze to his brother’s door. He hoped Papyrus had really meant what he said about being down in a few minutes; he could tell from the way the rabbit’s feet were tapping on the carpet that she was antsy about getting back to her job. “Some weather, huh?” he asked, cracking a wider smile. When she glanced back at him, he winked. “Guess you could say my bro’s been a bit _under_ it.”

The rabbit gave a more genuine smile, laughing softly, then gave him a sympathetic look. “I’ll do what I can for him, but you know I’m not strictly a healer. But…” Her expression shifted, her ears drooping as she looked at him in confusion. “The inn itself _does_ help. He couldn’t have stayed there?”

Behind Sans’s usual smile, his mind began to race. _No, because my brother was attacked by someone and is too ashamed to step outside_ was the answer, but that wasn’t what he was going to say. The problem was finding a substitute that the innkeeper would buy.

“Oh,” she said, suddenly shaking her head with a laugh. “Right, he doesn’t want to get anyone else sick, does he?”

 _Yeah, that works._ “Nah. Papyrus is pretty generous, but sickness isn’t really something he wants to share.”

_Creak._

The two snapped their heads up to the door.

“Sans?” Papyrus carefully limped out of the room, blinking down into the living room. Rather than his usual battle body—which was still wrecked, Sans remembered—he wore a pink MTT-brand tee, which came just below his ribcage, and a pair of gray sweatpants that were a touch too long, the bottoms dragging behind his ankles. “Who are you—?”

He caught sight of the innkeeper and staggered back, the back of his skull clunking against the wall behind him.

“Hello, Papyrus!” the rabbit said, waving up at him. “Sorry to startle you. Why don’t you come down?”

Papyrus’s jaw hung a bit loosely as he looked down at her, then fixed as he stole a questioning glance at Sans.

Sans gave an apologetic look before motioning to the stairs. “She was nice enough to stop by on her lunch break,” he explained. “She’ll uh, help fix you up.”

“...O-oh.” Shifting his stance so his weight was off of his bad leg, the taller skeleton looked back to the rabbit again before trying to put on a smile. ( _You need to work on that if you wanna fool anyone, Paps,_ Sans thought.) “Right. G-give me a moment!”

As Papyrus began to limp down the stairs, the innkeeper’s expression shifted from happy to concerned. “...Did something happen?” she asked, glancing from Sans to his brother, who suddenly looked alarmed. “How did you get—”

Sans was quick to step in. “Nah, it’s nothing big. Well, actually it was—big hill, wasn’t it Papyrus?”

Papyrus was heading down the last few steps a bit more slowly, clearly shaking and suddenly very interested in the carpet. “I… i-it was…”

“Yeah, just a tumble,” Sans finished with a shrug. “Nothing to worry about, but he did get a bit, uh, banged up.”

“I can see that.” The innkeeper approached Papyrus, who cringed back initially, then tried too quickly to correct his stance, putting too much weight on his bad leg and wincing. The rabbit looked down at his leg, then back up at him. “You shouldn’t put weight on that leg, dear. Here, I can help you to the couch—”

“H-here’s fine!” Papyrus said, dropping back to sit on the stairs. Sweat was trickling down the back of his skull, and even with his hands gripping the stairs to either side of him, he was having a hard time concealing his shaking.

Sans swallowed, starting to regret ever having asked the innkeeper to help. Maybe this had been a bad idea.

“Oh, I keep forgetting—I shouldn’t be getting too close to you with you being sick like this.” The rabbit gave a nervous laugh, and Sans heaved a quiet sigh. He couldn’t tell if she was really buying the whole “sickness” thing or if she was just playing along out of politeness, but he was grateful either way. “Could you lift your pant leg for me? I can’t do much, but I can at least get rid of that limp.”

Now Sans leaned forward, watching his brother carefully. Clearly he was still iffy about being touched, and Sans had to be ready to step in, in case something went wrong.

Papyrus’s blank stare grew a bit more distant, and he swallowed, as much as a monster with no throat could swallow. With a shaking hand he reached down, grabbing the bottom of his left pant leg and pulling it up, then shut his eyes, turning his head away. The bruises were still there around his tibia and kneecap, as well as the tops and bottoms of the leg bones.

“Oooh, that looks bad.” The innkeeper frowned, bending closer for a better look. “It’s no wonder you’re limping! Here, let me see if I can…” She held out her paws, which began to glow green, and came an inch or so short of touching the injured leg. Slowly the glow intensified, casting a faint green light on the immediate area, and the magic began to take form.

Much to Sans’s amusement—though not really to his surprise—the magic took the form of small green carrots and heads of lettuce. It made no real difference, of course, and as the magic shapes came in contact with Papyrus’s leg, they spread over the injured areas, causing them to glow a soft green. The darkened bone began to lighten under the magic, and the small cracks began to seal, returning the bones to the smooth, off-white surface that they once were.

Oddly enough, Papyrus did not seem to relax under the healing magic—rather, he was now staring up at the ceiling, eyes wide and jaw fixed tightly. He had not stopped shaking.

“...There.” The innkeeper dropped her paw and her ears drooped, but she gave the skeleton a tired smile. “That… that should do it. How does it feel now?”

Papyrus did not reply.

“...Papyrus?”

He gave a start, snapping back to attention and blinking at the rabbit. “Oh! Um…” Glancing down at his leg, he lifted it and stretched it, getting a feel for it. For once, a genuine smile crossed his features, albeit a faint one. “W-wowie, it feels much better now. Thank you!” He gave his leg another shake, and the pant leg fell back down over it.

“Good! I’m glad.” The rabbit stood upright, stretching, and rubbed her head. “Well, I’m glad you offered me that lunch, Sans. I think I’m going to need it after this.”

Sans nodded, giving a half-smile. “No prob. Thanks again.”

The innkeeper made to leave, but paused, turning back to Papyrus again. “Oh, Papyrus…”

The skeleton stiffened, any trace of a smile on him immediately gone. “Y… yes?” he asked, his voice going much quieter.

If he could have, Sans would have frowned.

Reaching into her pocket, the innkeeper pulled out a blue lollipop and held it out to him, smiling. “Since you couldn’t stop by, I thought I’d bring some candy to you instead.”

“O… oh.” Papyrus blinked, shakily reaching out to take the candy. He stared down at it, blinking. “Th-thank you.”

“It’s no problem.” With that, she began making her way to the door, but kept an eye on the skeletons as she did so. “I hope you feel better soon, Papyrus! Snowdin always feels safer with you sentries around.”

The door opened and closed, and she was gone.

Papyrus slumped forward, burying his face in his hands.

Now Sans hopped off the couch, approaching his brother and reaching out to rub his back. “Sorry about that, bro,” he said softly. Papyrus cringed away from his touch, and he dropped his hand. “I had to do something. But your leg’s better now, right?”

The taller skeleton mumbled something into his hands.

“Please, bro… I didn’t tell her anything. You heard that story I made up.” When Papyrus made no response, he sighed. “C’mon, let’s get you something to eat. Heh, it’s a good thing you make so much spaghetti, right? We’ve got a spaghet- _ton_ of leftovers—enough to feed the Royal Guard.”

Finally Papyrus dropped his hands, staring down at the floor. “I’m not hungry,” he said, blinking wearily. He seemed to remember the candy again, and held it up, spinning the stick between his phalanges.

“You need to eat anyway, bro. You need to regenerate your magic and HP again somehow.” Sans reached out, hesitated for a moment, and took his brother’s left hand, pulling gently. “Come on.”

“...All right, brother,” Papyrus sighed, rising to his feet. He strode to the table, and Sans was relieved to see that his limp was gone.

“Great. I’ll heat you up something.” With that, he shuffled into the kitchen.

It wasn’t long before he came out with a bottle of ketchup, a glass of water, and a plate of steaming spaghetti, the latter still as fresh as the day Papyrus had cooked it, and still as… edible. Which was to say, not very, but he knew Papyrus would eat it. He set the meal in front of his brother and took a seat on the other side of the table, then took a swig of ketchup.

Papyrus stared wearily at the spaghetti, but did not eat.

Sans swallowed and fixed his brother with a stern look. “Bro, this isn’t like you.”

“...I-I know.” Papyrus wrapped his arms around his chest, wincing when he moved his right arm. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t _apologize_ , just… eat.” He gestured to the food.

Drawing in a breath, the taller skeleton reached out to grab the fork, his right hand trembling. He twirled up a clump of noodles and stuck them in his mouth, only to shudder, coughing. He managed to swallow it down, but pushed the plate away immediately.

Sans cocked an eyebrow. Papyrus’s cooking was less than delightful, but for Papyrus himself to be repulsed by it…?

“That’s—that’s all I can s-stomach,” Papyrus stammered. (Sans bit back the urge to make a joke about their technically not having stomachs.) Swallowing again, he felt around the vertebrae around his neck before shuddering. “I-I’m feeling rather ill.”

Part of Sans was frustrated that his brother would hardly eat, but anger wasn’t the way to approach this. “Well, you got a mouthful down. Better than nothing.”

Papyrus took a sip of water, which quickly turned into a gulp, and Sans was pleased to see him down the whole glass.

“There you go, bro! See? You got this.”

“But I don’t,” the taller skeleton said, looking more alert, but no happier. He set down the glass and picked up the lollipop he’d set aside, twirling it in his fingers again. He said nothing for a few moments, only watching the candy spin around, then: “I-it’s not safer.”

Sans’s brow furrowed, and he gave his brother a skeptical grin. “What, the water? It’s fine. We’re skeletons—we don’t have the _guts_ to throw—”

“ _Sans_!”

He jumped back as his brother threw the candy onto the table before covering his face in his hands again. The taller skeleton drew in a shaky breath, and Sans straightened his back, waiting for his brother to speak.

“...S-Snowdin. Snowdin is not safer.”

What was he— ...Oh, that rabbit had said something about that, hadn’t she.

Papyrus’s voice cracked. “I-I’m a terrible sentry.”

“No you’re not,” was Sans’s automatic response, and he cleared his throat, following it up. “You make great puzzles and you’re always training with Undyne. She’s always talking about how tough you are.”

The other skeleton did not reply, and Sans picked up on the high-pitched, strained noise coming from him—he was fighting off tears again.

Sans hopped up from his seat and walked around the table to Papyrus, placing a hand on his back. “You _are_ a good sentry, Paps, and I’m not saying that just ‘cause I’m your brother.” When his brother still didn’t respond, he took a step closer to his side. “Bro… don’t you trust me?”

The dam broke.

Wrapping his arm around Papyrus’s shoulders, Sans leaned on him carefully, rubbing his back every so often as the taller skeleton sobbed. He said nothing, merely holding him as he waited out the storm. At some point, Papyrus did lean part of his weight against Sans—a small gesture that answered the question he’d posed earlier.

It was a burden Sans was relieved to bear.

Eventually Papyrus drew in several long, shaking breaths, calming himself down enough to speak. His voice was still tight and shaky as he spoke: “I-I… don’t trust _me_.”

Sans tensed. “What?”

Papyrus pulled away, staring down at a spot on the table and trying to avoid his brother’s gaze. “Y-you… you shouldn’t, either.”

Sans’s soul felt heavy. “Why would you say that?”

The taller skeleton leaned his left arm on the table and rested his head on his arm.

It took Sans a moment to find the words to say, but eventually he placed his hand on his brother’s shoulder and gave it a firm squeeze. “Listen, bro. You’re the Great Papyrus, and you’re the best brother anyone could ask for. Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise, okay?”

When Papyrus didn’t reply, Sans took his hand away, heaving a deep sigh. “No matter what happens…” And he stuck out his elbow, coming just short of jabbing his brother in the side. “I’m _tear_ for ya’.”

Papyrus jerked with a snort, the faintest of smiles creeping onto his face, and Sans’s own smile grew a bit brighter.

But it only lasted a moment, and Papyrus was back to staring down at the table.

“...I really do wish you’d talk to me, when you’re ready,” Sans admitted. He made a motion to put his hands in his hoodie’s pockets, only to hum when he remembered that his hoodie was still sitting in his brother’s room. “Till then, though, just take it easy.”

_Bzzt, bzzt._

Automatically he reached into the pocket of his shorts, pulling out his cell phone and flipping it open. He skimmed the message quickly and moved to put his phone away, only to suddenly whip it back out, reading over the message again.

Doggo’s text messages tended to be largely nonsense thanks to his use of his phone’s shoddy voice-to-text feature, but a couple words in the message jumped out at him:

_child dead_

Leaning in closer and narrowing his eyes, he tried to untangle the mess of misinterpreted words. _Key fall._ Key… tree? _Tree fall?_ That explained what happened to the… What else was— _stay shin_. _Station_. By one of the sentry stations. There was another word before that that began with a _p_ … _pa… papy—_

Sans’s stomach plummeted to the floor, and he numbly pocketed the phone.

Papyrus lifted his head slightly, making a questioning noise.

He recovered quickly, even as the nausea welled up within him. His brother would not know about this. Not now. Not when he was already doubting himself so badly. “Eh, that was Doggo.” Sans rocked on his heels. “Wanted to know if I’d be at Grillby’s tonight for poker.”

Papyrus sat upright at that, rubbing his injured arm. “W-will you be going…?”

“Would you feel better if I stayed home tonight?”

The taller skeleton looked away uneasily.

“Hey, if you want me to stay, that’s all right with me. I’ll let ‘im know.” Sans pulled out his phone again, tapping in a quick text:

_talk w/ u tonite bhind grillbz_

Quickly he looked back up, pocketing his phone. “Now how ‘bout you try eating a few more bites? It’ll help, bro, trust me. You need your HP back.”

“...All right, brother.”

 

* * *

 

Sans judged from the number of burnt dog treats littering the ground that Doggo had had a rough day.

The sentry was leaning against the back wall of the building, alternately puffing and chewing on the dog treat in his mouth and staring blankly out into the line of trees behind Grillby’s. Normally the “blankly” would be because he couldn’t see the trees in the first place, but that was probably not the case tonight.

“It’s a real _treat_ to talk with you,” Sans said, and Doggo yelped, staggering back and nearly choking on his snack.

“Who’s there?!” the dog growled, eyes wide and darting.

As was customary, Sans stuck his hands into his pockets (he’d gotten around to washing his hoodie, for once) and shifted back and forth rhythmically to make himself visible. “Just me, Doggo. What’ve you got?”

Doggo exhaled a long puff of smoke from his nose and went back to leaning against the wall. His ears were back, and the tip of his tail twitched back and forth.

Sans didn’t blame him for his hesitance, but he also didn’t have time to waste—Papyrus was in bed, and he’d told him he would be watching TV downstairs. “I got your text message, but you were a bit, uh, scant on the details.”

“I was in a hurry!” the dog barked. “We had to get the other kid home.”

Sans blinked. “Other kid?” He shook his head—this was a mess. “Think you could start from the beginning?”

“It was a couple of those teens that like to play in the woods. I heard one of them shouting and had to get Lesser Dog to help me find them. When we got there, uh…”

Doggo paused, taking in another long drag from the treat and exhaling slowly. Sans waited.

“I-I could see the one kid—the snowdrake with the sunglasses—because he was digging around and crying, but I c-couldn’t see the other… and then the wind picked up, and…”

Suddenly he bit into the treat, hard enough to make the burnt end snap off and fall to the ground. It crumpled when it hit the snow.

“ _Dust_.”

Sans might not have had a stomach, but that didn’t stop it from churning. He knew all too well how it felt to stumble on a scene like that. “Who was it?” he asked quietly, mentally going over the teens he would see playing in the woods from day to day.

“Th-the younger one. The runaway.”

 _Oh, no._ “ _Snowy_ , huh?” Shutting his eyes, he abandoned all attempts of keeping himself visible and leaned back against the wall next to Doggo. He hadn’t known Snowy very well, but he knew his father—one of the other comedians at the resort. The older snowdrake was already shaken up enough over the fact that his wife had dusted and his son had run away. How would he handle this?

“But…” Doggo’s head twitched back and forth as he shakily lit another dog treat. “Sans? Still there?”

Sans waved a hand.

“Right. Uh. This was by your brother’s station.” Tail twitching between his legs, Doggo let out a whimper. “Right behind it.”

For a moment, he felt like his soul had been turned blue, but he struggled to fight it off, turning to give Doggo a look. “So I read in your text. But what difference does it make? You said the kid was dust when you got there.”

“Well, um… according to the other kid, he wasn’t immediately dust.” Doggo shifted his feet and chewed uneasily. “He was… still alive a minute before we got there.”

It was a good thing Doggo couldn’t see his eyesockets going dim. He could, however, see him slowly slide down the wall and into a sitting position in the snow.

Doggo crouched down beside him, holding out a spare treat. Sans accepted it without a second thought, chewing it idly as the two sat in silence for several long moments.

“So, uh. The Dogi were saying Papyrus went missing the other night. And now he took the day off?”

Sans bit hard into the dog treat and swallowed the bite without thinking. _Of course._ “I—” He coughed, taking the bone-shaped object out of his mouth and clearing his throat. “I don’t know much more about it than you. And don’t go around saying what little you _do_ know.”

“Sorry!” Doggo whimpered, pawing at his nose. “It’s… really bad timing, I guess.”

“The worst,” Sans agreed, tapping on his knee and staring down at the snow as his eyesockets went blank again. “Don’t let Papyrus know. Ever.” He stuck one end of the treat back in his mouth, chewing on it again.

“Right.”

For a few more minutes the two sat in silence before Sans suddenly jumped upright, causing Doggo to yelp. Darn it, he’d nearly forgotten Papyrus still thought he was downstairs. “Look, I gotta head back,” he said, waving to his fellow sentry. “Take care. I’ll be back to work tomorrow.”

“Goodnight, Sans,” Doggo said, crossing his legs and lighting up another treat.

As soon as the dog looked away, Sans took the shortcut home. He arrived in the living room and took a seat on the couch, leaning back and letting the noise from the TV muffle his thoughts.

What he wouldn’t give for the universe to stop hating him for just one timeline.


	8. Sentry Duty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A frayed scarf, an accidental attack, and an unexpected friend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for how long this took! I have actually had this chapter finished for some time, but couldn't figure out where to divide it. After writing farther into the story, however, I realized what happened next would be a bit too heavy for this chapter, so I decided to cut it here. So while this may be a little short, don't worry; I'm already quite a ways into the next chapter, so it should hopefully not take quite so long for me to finish it.
> 
> ...Phalanges crossed.

Papyrus’s hands worked quickly as he pulled the needle through the red fabric, then plunged it back in again, back and forth in a rhythmic movement. The TV, displaying one of Mettaton’s movies—which consisted of nothing more than the robot’s posing in a rain of flower petals—gave a quiet whisper of music as background noise, and provided the only light in the room. This, in combination with Papyrus’s shaky right arm, was making it rather difficult to work.

After a few more tries, his hand began to seize up, and he set the ruined scarf aside.

For once, he wished he could sleep for more than a few hours at a time.

He’d tried, of course, but the attempt only resulted in dreams filled with a heavy, overwhelming perfume of golden flowers and the feeling of invasive vines, as well as dull pains in his bones. He’d woken up in cold sweat and with an aching wrist—the latter coming from the fact that he’d been lying on his arm. Sleep, evidently, was not an option tonight.

Heaving a shaking sigh, he looked down at his right wrist, rubbing the carpals before closing his eyes and concentrating. After a long moment, a green glow surrounded his left hand and moved into the carpals and surrounding bones on his right, slowly easing the pain. He was only able to keep it up for a few seconds before he pulled his left hand away, gasping and shivering.

It was difficult to heal oneself to begin with—downright impossible in combat—but it was even harder when one’s magic reserves were taking their sweet time in replenishing themselves. Still, he’d been managing a little bit of healing magic every hour or so, and that was better than nothing. At this rate he might have his arm healed by morning.

If only he could do something about that… feeling.

It hadn’t left him, even after he’d washed down his bones—he still felt like vines were clinging to him and slithering over him, covering him in snow and soil all over again. But when he looked down at one of his arms or at his feet, he couldn’t see any dirt—it wasn’t there. His bones were perfectly clean, but… they sure didn’t feel that way.

Shuddering, Papyrus turned his gaze from his bones and over to his scarf. Normally he would be able to fix it up quickly, but it was hard going with his sore wrist and the poor light source. The only thing preventing him from turning on a light was the fact that he didn’t want to wake Sans.

...Then again, the kitchen was directly underneath Sans’s room; the light from there wouldn’t shine beneath his door.

He gathered up the two halves of the scarf and his sewing supplies and carried them into the kitchen, flipping on the light switch and carefully laying the objects on the counter. (No dirt showed up under the light—Sans had been kind enough to wash the fabric for him.) After rubbing his right wrist for a few minutes, he resumed work, finding it much easier now with the better light source.

This wasn’t the first time he’d had to repair his scarf; the thing was long enough that it got caught on stray branches and in doors every so often, though he’d been more careful about that in recent years. If anyone bothered to look at the fabric closely enough, they would see the spots where it had been stitched back together, especially the ones from his earlier years, when he had still been learning how to sew.

But this was the first time he’d had to sew two halves of the scarf back together.

It wasn’t impossible to fix—far from it—but seeing his favorite clothing article in such a state was upsetting, to say the least.

Especially given why it was torn in the first—

The needle jabbed into one of his phalanges, not unintentionally, and he pulled his shaking hands away, gripping the edges of the counter. Papyrus shut his eyes, focusing on breathing in time to the faint music emanating from the living room. In… out. In… out.

He got back to the task as soon as he was able. Pay attention to the needle and thread. Try to make the seam invisible if you can. Ignore the pain in your wrist. Just work on the stitching. Focus, focus, _focus_.

What should have been a fifteen-minute stitching job took him far longer as he repeatedly stopped to rub his wrist (and attempt to heal it), but finally the scarf was in one piece. Pushing aside the sewing supplies, he held the red fabric up, hands shaking, as though he feared it might come apart if he moved it just the wrong way.

With a few careful movements he wrapped the scarf around his neck, and heaved a sigh at the familiar feeling of the soft fabric covering his upper vertebrae. It was a small thing, but it made him feel the tiniest bit safer—not to mention it brought him the relief of getting something the tiniest bit productive done.

Maybe now he could rest for the remainder of the night.

Leaving the supplies on the counter to take care of in the morning, Papyrus crept back to the living room, switching the kitchen light off on the way, and plopped onto the couch. He wondered how much of the movie he’d missed—

Yellow petals fluttered over the rectangular robot on the screen.

Papyrus scrambled for the remote and frantically jabbed his thumb on the power button repeatedly, the TV flickering on and off a few times before finally going dim. He stared at the screen, still holding the remote and trying to stop shaking. When that didn’t work, he dropped the remote, pulling his long legs up onto the couch and curling up, holding his scarf up around his face.

 _Just stop thinking about it,_ he thought, nuzzling into the soft fabric. _You’re okay now. Stop thinking about it._

His wrist suddenly gave a painful twinge, and with a growl, he grabbed it with his other hand, focusing his magic with all of his might into a bright green burst.

The pain faded entirely, and so did his energy.

With a weak groan, Papyrus slumped over onto his side. His back and ribs and skull still hurt, but the idea of trying to heal them too only made him feel more exhausted. But his arm and leg were healed, and his scarf was whole—that was something. That was a good thing. Something good had happened today.

With that in mind, he finally drifted off.

And the colors yellow, green, and gray permeated his dreams.

 

* * *

 

Daylight reflecting off of dull yellow paper greeted him when he opened his eyesockets.

Papyrus sat upright, scrambling to pull his arms out from under a blanket he hadn’t remembered draping over himself, and rubbed at his eyes. How long had he been asleep—?!

It took him a moment to register that the paper and blanket were not actually random objects that had materialized out of nowhere, and he reached down to pick up the sticky note (with—he was pleased to remember—his now pain-free hand). The note contained a short message in familiar handwriting:

_sleep tight bro_

_i’ll be at work, text if you need me_

_p.s.: the scarf looks good_

He stared at the note, reading it several more times. That was absolutely Sans’s handwriting, but…

Sans? _Willingly_ going to work? Without _him_?

Papyrus found himself wondering briefly if he’d stepped into an alternate dimension, like that sci-fi nonsense Sans would occasionally ramble about. Sans _never_ went to work without at least some amount of nagging. What was he up to? Had Papyrus missed something?

Rubbing at the bruises on the back of his head, Papyrus eased himself off the couch and looked up at the wall clock. It was past ten AM—well after he should have been at his own sentry station. Why had Sans let him sleep in? He couldn’t just…

No, no, this was wrong. He couldn’t skip work _again_. His limp was gone and his wrist was healed—sure he was still a bit banged up, but there was no reason he couldn’t go back to working on his puzzles and standing sentry.

...Except he’d already proven he wasn’t all that good at the latter.

Papyrus’s bones felt heavy as he folded up the blanket and carried it back up to his room. He sat on his bed and found himself spending some time becoming familiar with a patch on his rug, which still smelled like soap.

Was this really what Sans expected him to do? Just… sit around the house all day, doing nothing?

With a sudden pained jolt to his middle, Papyrus sat up straight, remembering the advice he’d given his brother yesterday.

_I don’t trust me. You shouldn’t, either._

...Maybe he’d taken that advice to heart.

Papyrus tugged at his scarf, pulling it up around his mouth and nasal cavity as he drew in several shaking breaths. But he didn’t cry—he wasn’t going to let himself, not this time. He wouldn’t get anything accomplished by sitting around and feeling sorry for himself.

“I-I may not be trustworthy,” he muttered into the scarf, “but that doesn’t mean I can’t do anything, does it…?”

No, of course it didn’t. He could still do sentry duty. He _had_ to—it was his job. Sure he would be late, but “better late than never,” as he’d heard his brother say before, and he couldn’t miss yet another day of work, anyway.

With a decisive air, Papyrus stood up from his bed and gathered some new clothes to change into. For a moment he looked for the chestplate to his battle body before remembering what had become of that, and resignedly put on a dull gray hooded sweater instead—longer than the tee shirt he’d been wearing, but still not long enough to cover his spine. But the rest of his usual outfit he put on—the lower half, his boots, his gloves, and his scarf.

When he checked himself in the mirror, he was surprised to find himself slumping. He hadn’t had to consciously correct his posture in ages—he’d gotten _better_ at that. He straightened his spine and puffed out his chest, but something felt… lacking. Part of it may have been the fact that he simply looked different with a hoodie instead of a chestplate, but he would figure out what to do about that later. For now, he needed to eat something and get to work.

Forcing down some leftover spaghetti was as difficult as it had been yesterday—nausea still plagued him whenever he tried to eat, not to mention swallowing _anything_ made him think of…

He clasped his hands around his neck, rubbing the bruised vertebrae; he felt like he was choking and was going to gag, even though he wasn’t. There were no vines gagging him, but that didn’t mean he could easily forget the feeling.

 _Stop it, it’s just spaghetti,_ he thought. _Sans was right—I need to eat to get my magic and HP back._ At least the latter had mostly recovered by now, and the former had regenerated enough for him to manage some attacks should he need to later. He forced down a few more mouthfuls, fighting the urge to gag, and put the rest back into the fridge.

As he approached the table to feed the pet rock before he left, he spotted the lollipop he’d been given yesterday sitting there. More to keep the table clean than anything else, he stuck the candy into his hoodie pocket. After tossing a pinch of sprinkles onto the rock, he returned to the kitchen to put the container away, and turned to face the door.

It was time to head to work.

It was not without hesitance that he exited his house and began to walk through Snowdin, but he tried to exude as much confidence as possible. This, however, became more difficult than he expected when he walked by other monsters.

While it wasn’t unusual for people to glance his way, given how loud and showy he tended to be, today he felt like he was under greater scrutiny than usual. Every time a pair of eyes locked onto him, he had to fight the urge to hunch his shoulders or wrap his arms around his chest. It didn’t help that the feeling of the hoodie against his ribcage was entirely different from the feeling of his battle body’s covering him, and it left him feeling exposed. He swore he felt the other monsters’ gazes lingering on him longer than normal, but tried to shrug it off—he was going into work a little later than normal and he was dressed a little differently today, so they were probably just trying to make sure that the skeleton they were seeing really was him. That made sense, right?

But he couldn’t shake the feeling that they really were _staring_ , scrutinizing him, evaluating him to see if he was truly worthy of being a future member of the Royal Guard, or even a Snowdin sentry. He didn’t _feel_ worthy, and he was starting to wonder if they could pick up on that.

Yet no one said a word, other than a few quiet “hellos” as he passed. In the eternity it took for him to pass through the town, no one approached him or asked him where he had been yesterday.

Maybe he was just imagining things.

Finally he was approaching the bright, cheery “WELCOME TO SNOWDIN” sign, and beyond that was the “bridge” leading into the forest. Yes, it had all been in his head—no one was out to chase him away from his job, and he could just head right into work like nothing ever happ—

He saw the explosion of stars and felt himself stagger a few moments before the sharp pain blossomed in the back of his skull. While he managed to keep himself from falling over, that didn’t stop the panic from mounting within him as he remembered the magic bullets flying at him, hitting his bones, whittling down his HP _he couldn’t let this happen again he had to do_ something—

Still dazed from the blow, Papyrus turned around, letting out a cry as he chucked a large bone in the direction of his assailant.

“ _AGH_!”

With a stab of panic that pierced through his daze, he recognized the voice as that of a young teen, not the flower he’d been expecting.

As his spinning vision steadied, Papyrus could finally see a short blue-green monster staring in shock at the bone that was now jutting out of the ground. It was a snowdrake—one of the teens he frequently ran into while making his rounds in the forest. Fortunately it hadn’t been hurt, but it was definitely scared, though that fear quickly turned to anger as it shot a glare at him before turning and running away.

He stared after the kid, then turned to look at the bone he’d thrown, blinking as the thoughts continued to process in his mind. The realization of what he’d done suddenly hit him at full force, nearly knocking him completely over with the horror of it.

Oh stars, he’d attacked a _kid_.

“Wai— _wait_!” he called after the little monster, starting to run, only to stagger and nearly fall into the snow. “Are you all right?!”

But the teen was already gone from sight, having fled back into the town.

Papyrus stared off to the east for a good long while, trying to piece together what had happened. It wasn’t unusual for the sentries to occasionally be attacked by those teens, but “attacked” normally just meant being pelted with snowballs. It was all in good fun… but it never _hurt_ like that.

Looking back at where he’d been standing moments earlier, he spotted the snowball he’d been hit with, and stooped down to pick it up. It was heavier and more solid than a normal snowball should be, and it wasn’t hard to tell why: it was not a true snowball, but rather a snow-covered _ice chunk._

But… why had the kid thrown _that_ at him?

And why had he attacked the kid in return?

Even when he was confronted with danger, his first impulse had _never_ been to fight back. There was always a reason for an attack—perhaps the attacker was confused, or afraid, or wasn’t actually trying to hurt anyone. So why had his first thought been to fling one of his bones at his attacker?

At a _kid_?

It didn’t matter that he hadn’t realized it was a kid at first—that was no excuse. You don’t go flinging bones around willy-nilly. Someone could get hurt! The kid didn’t, but he _almost_ did, and… and...

Maybe he _should_ have stayed home today.

It was too late now, though—if he went back into town, he would have to confront the teen’s parents, and the thought of _that_ made him feel sick. Perhaps—perhaps he could ask Sans for help later, when he ran into him during patrol. Yes. That would work out.

Rubbing the new bruise on the back of his skull, Papyrus dragged his boots through the deep snow and toward the bridge, taking his time in crossing it. His day had barely started, and he already had too much on his mind.

 

* * *

 

The trees cast deep shadows on the forest below, and occasionally a small beam of light would poke through, glistening off the ice on the ground. A gust of wind rushed out from between the icy branches of the trees, blowing past him and tugging at the end of his newly-repaired scarf.

Papyrus had walked and skidded through this patch of forest more times than he could count, never once fearing anything that might be lurking behind the trees. But now he stood rooted to the spot, staring into the trees like he was staring into the abyss of Waterfall’s garbage dump. The familiar shadows of this patch of forest now looked foreign and threatening, and every so often he swore he saw _something_ shift behind the tree trunks.

He couldn’t move.

He’d tried. He’d told himself that there was nothing to be afraid of, that he’d passed through here a thousand times, that after a short, slippy walk he’d be hopping over the gap to one of his own puzzles, and could just continue on to his sentry station like normal. There was nothing to be afraid of. There was nothing there. No one was dumb enough to attack someone on the ice, where they could slip.

He went over every rational explanation for why he should not be afraid, and yet he couldn’t move.

It took him a moment to realize that his legs were shaking badly, and the tremor was quickly moving up to the rest of his body.

But he couldn’t move.

Greater Dog’s station was not far behind him, and Snowdin was not much farther than that—a short distance away was the false bridge, and beyond that was the edge of the town. So easily he could just turn around and head home and stay there. Clearly he was in no condition to stand sentry.

But Greater Dog would see him, which would mean the other sentries and guards would know he was chickening out of sentry duty. Going back through Snowdin would mean more stares. It would mean having to confront the parents of that teenager, and having to explain to them why he’d thrown an attack at their son. It would mean having people wonder _why wasn’t he doing his job._

But going forward would mean…

He couldn’t move.

Suddenly Papyrus raised up his leg and stomped it firmly into the snow, then hunched over, burying his face in his hands. “What is wrong with the G-Great Papyrus, that he can’t even get to work—?!” he howled into the thick padding of his gloves.

Slowly he straightened his back, dragging his hands down his face and looking off to one side dully. Just as he was about to wonder if he would be standing there all day, he spotted a path downhill.

That’s right—there was another path that led around the side of the hill, and there were few trees down there. He rarely went down there himself—all the other times he’d come this way, his mind had been on recalibrating his ice-switch puzzle—but maybe this time he could take an alternate route.

Maybe he could do this after all.

Drawing in a deep breath and letting it out with a puff of fog, Papyrus began his march down the hill, focusing on keeping his balance and calming his nerves. “It’ll… j-just be like a ‘short-cut’ that Sans uses,” he muttered to himself, trying to force a grin. “N-nyeh-heh.”

But upon reaching the bottom and heading down the path, he realized his mistake—this path only led to a steep drop-off and a dark cave, and did not go all the way around the hill.

Oh.

Papyrus stared down the cliffside, seeing a few houses in the distance below, and heaved a sigh, turning around. He found himself staring down at his footprints as he made his way back, his soul heavy at the thought of having to choose between heading through the forest and returning home. But as he walked, he noticed another set of footprints that weaved around his—they were smaller and farther apart, as though left by a creature with long legs, but he didn’t remember anyone—

“Sentry _._ ”

The deep voice came from directly behind him, and he jumped into the air with a yelp, spinning around. His eyesockets were wide and a couple bones materialized at his sides before he realized just what was standing in front of him.

The gyftrot eyed him carefully, foggy breath occasionally puffing out of its— _her_ , Papyrus realized when he noted the larger antlers—joined mouth and nasal cavity. Her upper eyes were narrowed, while her lower set of eyes were wide and alert, staring directly into his. It took him a few moments to notice the string of holiday lights tangled in her left set of antlers and wrapping around to her right foreleg.

“O-oh!” Papyrus cried, taking a step back when he realized he’d been staring. The magic bones at his sides melted away. “You’ve… you need help.”

Her stare drifted down to the snow beneath her, and her ears drooped as she dipped her head.

His own anxiety momentarily forgotten, Papyrus stepped toward the monster, reaching out to pull the lights off of her antlers. “Don’t worry,” he said, carefully pulling the decoration over the miniature trees growing from her antlers. “This will just be a moment.”

Why did the teens have to assault the gyftrots like this? These monsters usually kept to themselves, and never tried to hurt anyone. Sure their appearance could be… alarming, what with their four eyes and vertical jaws and fangs, but they were peaceful, mostly.

“I almost did not approach you,” the gyftrot whispered suddenly, and Papyrus looked down at her. “You appeared… thoughtful.”

“It’s all right,” he replied, finally lifting the string of lights over her head. He stooped down, getting to work on the other end that was tied around her leg. “I-it is my duty as a sentry to not only keep watch, but… watch out for others as well. You can always approach us if you need help.”

Finally the decoration was off, and the gyftrot stamped her foot, shaking her antlers. “A burden has been lifted,” she said, raising her head once again. Gyftrots lacked any features that would enable them to smile, but Papyrus could see the relief in her eyes.

It was too bad he didn’t have a gift to give her to—

Oh!

Reaching into his pocket, Papyrus pulled out the lollipop he’d been given the other day and held it out to the monster. “For you,” he said, giving a small smile. “I know it’s not much but—”

The gyftrot snapped her jaws onto the candy, devouring it wrapper, stick, and all.

Papyrus pulled his hand back in delayed shock, realizing the monster had come just short of taking off one of his fingers. “W-well, I’m glad you like it, then.” He looked down at the string of lights in his other hand and wound it up, hanging it over his shoulder—he’d take it back to his sentry station for now.

Her jaws snapped together a few more times, and her head jerked as she swallowed the candy. “Thank you, sentry,” she whispered, then turned to leave.

An idea struck him, and he acted before he could think on it too long. “W-wait! Before you go—”

She swung her large head around to stare at him again, expression unreadable.

Papyrus balked, suddenly realizing how stupid his request would sound. Bringing up a hand to hold to his mouth, he put on a thoughtful appearance whilst trying to hide his quivering jaw. “E-er, well—” He swallowed, then brought his hand down, looking into one set of the gyftrot’s eyes. “I am on the lookout for someone—or something—but I cannot see clearly in the d-dark patch of forest at the top of this hill.” It was... mostly true, anyway, even if that wasn’t the full reason he needed help. “Your eyesight is clearly better than mine, so I was wondering if you could—could accompany me through the area ahead.”

The gyftrot stared at him for a few moments before turning around fully. “Lead the way.”

Fighting the urge to _leap_ with relief, Papyrus instead channeled the energy into marching back up the hill, his temporary companion at his side. She remained silent as she followed him, but she didn’t appear particularly annoyed either. Once they were up the hill, she took a few steps forward, ears swiveling as she stared into the icy forest.

“This is where you are searching?” she asked.

“Y… yes,” he replied, shuffling his boots a little and tugging at his scarf. “The rest of the area is clear enough for me to see, but here—”

“I understand.” With that, she began to walk into the woods, and Papyrus rushed to follow her.

The patch of forest felt just as oppressive and scary as it had not much earlier, but Papyrus kept close to the gyftrot’s side as she strode easily across the icy ground. More than once he slipped and skidded on a particularly slick patch, and he had to fight the urge to grab onto the other monster’s back for support—he got the feeling she wouldn’t appreciate the action much.

Halfway through the patch, the gyftrot suddenly stopped, and Papyrus fought to keep still as well. “Wh-what is it?” he stammered, looking around frantically. It was hard enough for him to see into the distance, let alone in this dark patch. When he looked back at the other monster, he found her head dipping, starting to lower toward the ground off to the side.

Just as he was about to ask her again, she suddenly jerked her head, her jaws snapping loudly. He jumped back with a yelp, only to slip again, this time falling onto his backside. “Oww…”

“Is there a problem?” The gyftrot swung her head back around to stare at him, jaws chomping.

It was then he saw the leaves hanging from her teeth, and he mentally smacked himself. “N-no, I just—l-lost my balance, nyeh-heh.” He felt his face heat up in embarrassment and hoped the gyftrot wasn’t able to see it. Shakily he got to his feet, but managed to keep his balance, and the two moved on.

Finally they were out of the dark patch and looking at a small gap, on the other side of which was the ice-switch puzzle that Papyrus had set up. The gyftrot swallowed the plant matter she’d been chomping on and shook her antlers.

“There you are, sentry,” she said, and turned to leave.

“O-oh! Thank you!” he said, turning to watch her go.

She glanced back at him. “Good luck in your search. I saw nothing here.” And she began to walk back through the woods, her hooves steady on the ice.

Papyrus smiled back at her and turned back toward his puzzle, his long legs easily stepping over the gap.

“Nothing other than a stray yellow weed.”

His boots suddenly lost all traction on the ice, and he shot forward, crashing into the snowbank on the other side.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, and [here's an illustration](http://asleepyskeleton.tumblr.com/post/139897574858/undecorating-the-gyftrot-from-the-latest-chapter) I drew of one of the later scenes in the chapter.


	9. Weight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Like petals off a wilting flower, like a coat off a cold back, like a hand from a hot iron.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "...so it should hopefully not take quite so long for me to finish it." Well, that didn't wind up happening. I sincerely apologize for the long wait, but here we are, finally, with the next chapter!
> 
> But before that, I have a brief announcement: I now have a beta! [volatileSoloiste](http://archiveofourown.org/users/volatileSoloiste/pseuds/volatileSoloiste) was kind enough to beta-read this chapter for me. If it weren't for them, I probably never would have finished this chapter.
> 
> Well, here's hoping the next chapter won't take quite as long for me to finish, but I suppose we know how much my hoping does at this point...

Flowey glared down at one of his vines, the end of which bore jagged bite-marks and still dripped sap, which froze to the vine in the sub-zero air. He shook it a few times, trying to rid himself of the burning pain, before drawing the vine back underground.

Well, that was what he got for trying to have a bit of fun. Though attempting to spook Papyrus while the gyftrot was still there probably hadn’t been the best idea in the first place.

At least that hadn’t been a total loss. He’d never seen a sentry ask a gyftrot for help before, and more importantly, now he knew for sure that Papyrus had gotten off his lazy rear and back into work. It was about time—he’d nearly gone after Sans out of boredom, which would have meant having to rework his plans all over again. (Or just doing a quick save reload, if he remembered to save beforehand.)

He also knew for sure that the skeleton was now a nervous wreck.

Perfect.

Flowey kept his distance from Papyrus for a while, merely watching as the skeleton shakily reset each of his puzzles. He was constantly looking over his shoulder whenever there wasn’t another sentry around, but Flowey had gotten quite good at darting back underground before he was spotted. It was tempting to get close to him to give him a good scare, but he managed to hold off—spooking him now when he was too close to the other sentry posts would attract the attention of the other sentries, which he didn’t want.

Papyrus exchanged a few words with each sentry as he passed their station, but none of them mentioned what had occurred the previous day—not even Lesser Dog or Doggo. The only sign the former gave that he was withholding information was the fact that his neck did not stretch when Papyrus patted his head, but Doggo was a bit more obvious, nervously puffing his dog treats and saying little. Papyrus seemed to take these actions as blows against his own self-confidence, and by the time he was nearing his sentry station, he was slumping visibly.

Flowey was waiting for him in the trees behind his sentry station. Before Papyrus got too close, however, he reached a vine into a nearby branch, quickly taking care of something that might cause problems later. The vine snagged a tiny camera and squeezed it, crushing it and letting it fall to the ground. With a couple swipes of his leaves, the object was under the snow and out of sight, and Flowey was able to turn his attention back to Papyrus.

As the skeleton took a seat in the shoddy cardboard station and tossed the holiday lights he’d been carrying under the counter, Flowey broke out into a grin. Finally, he could move on with things. At first he thought he might just pop up in front of Papyrus like he normally would, but he’d recently come up with a more interesting idea.

Darting underground, Flowey moved closer to Papyrus until he was right beside his sentry station, and carefully poked his head out of the snow, slowly enough that Papyrus wouldn’t notice. He examined the skeleton carefully, noting that the hoodie he wore failed to completely cover his spine. That made things easier for him.

Slipping a vine out from the snow, he stretched it into the sentry station, just behind Papyrus, and swiped it from the bottom of his exposed spine to up between his scapulae underneath his baggy hoodie.

And Papyrus _screamed_ , tipping off the side of his stool and out the other side of the sentry station, nearly knocking the cardboard structure over. He scrambled backward through the snow, his movements growing more frantic when he made eye contact with Flowey. Several bones materialized at his sides and in front of him, and he finally backed up into a tree, stammering phonemes that made no attempts at arranging themselves into words.

“Boy, Papyrus, is that any way to greet a friend?” Flowey asked, smile never wavering.

The skeleton was shaking from head to toe as he rose to his feet, staring at Flowey, yet not really seeing him—he had that kind of terrified look on his face that seemed to indicate he didn’t trust his own eyes.

The harsh echoes of Doggo’s concerned barks reached them from some distance off, snapping Papyrus out of it. He looked up suddenly, then back down at Flowey, who cocked an eyebrow and put a leaf to his own mouth.

Papyrus closed his eyes, taking a few deep breaths, and called back: “S-sorry! It’s nothing!”

Hearing nothing more from the other sentry, the two went back to staring at one another. Flowey ducked beneath the ground, popping up closer, and Papyrus pressed himself more firmly against the back of the tree, pulling his summoned bones in closer, as though they would protect him. The sight almost made him giggle, but he held back the urge.

Instead he spoke up, no sign of taunting in his voice: “What’s the matter?” He tilted his head, keeping up the innocent act. “You’re acting like you’re scared of me. Aren’t you a sentry or something? What kind of sentry is scared of a flower?”

Papyrus was still shaking and breathing heavily, as though he were trying to keep himself from going into another wild panic. Reaching one hand behind him, he felt around his spine, where Flowey had touched it, and his shivers intensified for a moment. Finally he drew in one long breath, and glared down at Flowey, releasing the breath through his nasal cavity. “Wh-what are you doing here?” he said, trying to sound demanding, but failing to keep the frightened tone out of his voice.

Flowey pulled a convincing expression of confusion. “What? I can’t visit my friend?” He shook his head, shifting his expression to a hurt one. “Really, what are you acting so scared for? If anything, _I_ should be scared of _you_!”

The magical bones dipped in their height, and Papyrus might have slumped where he stood had he not been frozen in place. As it was, his jaw hung loose in surprise. “Wh… what are you talking about, Flowey?”

“You really don’t remember?” Flowey tilted his head, still keeping that hurt look. Inwardly, he was grinning at just how easy Papyrus was to mess with. “You don’t remember all that _awful_ stuff you did a couple nights ago?”

Papyrus’s jaw quivered for a moment before he shook his head and buried his face in his hands. “No, _no_ , that’s not right—” He pulled his hands away and leaned forward, glaring down at Flowey. “You— _you_ did—you—”

Flowey blinked. “I what?”

Now Papyrus was tugging at his scarf, any anger in his expression melting back into fear. “Y-you… your v… you t-t-tried… you…” Slowly he leaned back against the tree again, rubbing at his skull.

“Papyrus?” Flowey leaned closer. This was fascinating. Nothing he’d ever done before had gotten Papyrus to react this way—it was all new, and he wanted to see where it would go. “What did I do?”

Tears were now stinging at the corners of the skeleton’s eyesockets as he slid down to a seated position, holding his head in his hands. He shut his eyes tightly, his body shaking and his chest heaving, and finally shouted: “Y-you _hurt_ me!”

“ _Hurt_ you?” he parroted, pulling back with a shocked look on his face. “Why Papyrus! What would I have done to hurt you?”

By this point Papyrus was clearly fighting off sobs, holding his scarf up around his face and covering the rest of it with his hands. “No, no, no, no, no no _no no no_ …”

“Well, if you can’t say anything, I guess it’s not all that bad,” Flowey said with a shrug of his leaves, as though the skeleton would see it. He pulled another vine out from the ground, reaching it toward Papyrus’s back. “There there, Papyrus. It’s all right.”

As soon as the vine touched him, the bones that had been hovering at his side suddenly shot forward, nearly hitting Flowey. He was able to duck into the ground in time to dodge the attack, and came up above ground again. Where he’d once sprouted, six bones were now jutting out of the ground, and he cried out in an imitation of horror. “Look at that!”

Papyrus finally looked up, trying to wipe the tear streaks from his face.

“See?” Flowey said, his tone part upset and part accusatory as he pointed at the bones. “This is _exactly_ what I’m talking about! You were attacking me the other night, just like that!” He leaned closer, frowning. “You remember _that_ , don’t you?”

It was clear from Papyrus’s expression that he did, though he shook his head. “N-no, _no_ , F-Flowey, that’s not—”

“I don’t know what’s gotten into you, but you shouldn’t be attacking people like that.” He reached out, guiding Papyrus’s jaw with a vine until he was directly facing Flowey. “Especially when they didn’t do anything to you!”

And he moved in closer until he could see the fine cracks where he’d gripped Papyrus’s neck and jaw a little too tight a couple nights ago. “Nothing you didn’t agree to, I mean.”

Flowey raised his eyebrows in interest as Papyrus pulled away, curling up into a ball. A few bones hesitantly appeared at his side, shuddering, and after a few seconds, melted. Unformed attacks appeared as wisps of blue-white magic occasionally flickering at his sides.

Well. He’d seen Papyrus fight against his own magic before, but this was new.

On top of that, Flowey could still see the skeleton’s face behind his bony legs, though some of it was hidden behind his scarf. Interesting. He didn’t know it was possible for a skeleton to look ill.

“There there, friend,” Flowey said, imitating a soothing tone he remembered from his mother. He reached out a vine again, placing it on Papyrus’s back.

Papyrus drew in a sharp breath, the magic at his sides solidifying into bones again. He sat tensely for a moment before the magic bones shook, then shattered. His stance loosened like a wilting flower, and Flowey was more easily able to see his expression—or lack thereof. Now the skeleton was staring blankly at nothing in particular, as though completely detached from everything around him.

Flowey smiled and rubbed his back.

For a little while he kept it up, waiting patiently for Papyrus to collect himself again. But when the skeleton was still quiet several minutes later, Flowey took it upon himself to move the conversation forward. “You know, you haven’t apologized yet.”

When Papyrus still didn’t respond, Flowey rubbed the vine, hard, over a rib he knew was still bruised.

Papyrus yelped, snapping back to life and bolting upright. Blinking a few times, he looked down at Flowey, gasped, and tried to scramble backward again. Of course, the only thing he accomplished was bashing the back of his skull against the tree trunk. Holding his head in his hands and giving a strained noise of pain, he looked down at the flower again.

“I _said_ ,” Flowey continued, tilting his head, “that you haven’t apologized to me yet.” He reached out with another vine, nudging the bone attacks that still stuck into the ground. “You could have hurt me!”

“I-I…” Papyrus stared at the attacks, then at Flowey, and hung his head. “I-I’m… _sorry_ …” he moaned.

Giving a half-smile, Flowey patted his shoulder and watched him flinch. “I guess I forgive you, then, so long as it doesn’t happen again.” He studied the skeleton carefully. “It won’t, will it?”

“N… n-n…”

“Good enough!” Flowey retracted his vines and giggled. Suddenly he lifted his leaves to his face in mock surprise. “Oh, Papyrus! I almost forgot.”

The skeleton had begun to pull himself to his feet, legs shaking as he tried to balance himself against the tree. But at Flowey’s words, he tensed up completely, staring in the flower’s direction for a moment before gulping. “Wh-what is it, Flowey?”

He studied the skeleton again, noting his uneasy stance, the way he shook, and the way he couldn’t even look him in the eyes anymore. Part of him wondered if maybe loading this bit of information onto Papyrus would be too much for him—after all, he didn’t want to break the skeleton this early. The process had to be dragged out long enough for his idiot of a brother to process it. But if he waited too long, this next bit might not work.

Oh well. He’d save and go back if he had to.

Flowey jerked his head to the north, behind Papyrus’s sentry station. “Oh, nothing much… Just something I thought you should know, with you being a sentry and all.”

He ducked under the ground, popping up closer to the trees behind the station and motioning with his leaves. “Follow me.”

Papyrus stared after him, but did not move.

Flowey’s smile grew a little strained. “Didn’t you hear me? I said follow me.”

The skeleton took a step back.

“Papyrus…” He tilted his head, frowning in disappointment. “Don’t you _trust_ me?”

Papyrus winced, neither nodding nor shaking his head.

_You wanna do this the hard way?_ He stretched a vine out by Papyrus’s feet, well within his view, and the skeleton bolted away from it, heading in Flowey’s direction. Flowey gave a half-smile. _Didn’t think so._

With that, he ducked underground again, popping up a few feet away, and Papyrus, with great reluctance, followed.

 

* * *

 

Sans stared up at the mist that hid the cavern ceiling from view, his back to the door.

It was a few minutes after he typically showed up, and normally he would’ve knocked by now. While it was a routine, like everything else he did nowadays, it wasn’t one that he got bored of. Sure, the jokes were old—they tended to repeat them every so often—but that didn’t matter.

Her laughter never grew old.

It wasn’t like the laughter he heard so often at Grillby’s, or even at the resort—the kind that told him that he was amusing, entertaining. Not that he didn’t appreciate that, of course, but compared to her laugh…

Her laughter was the strong kind that bubbled beneath her ribcage—a rich, deep sound. Her laugh told him that his jokes were one of the only things pulling her through. The lights in her darkness. The relief from her loneliness.

That was what his jokes were to her. And that was what her laughter was to him.

To know that someone could rely on him to help them…

Sans drew in a quiet breath, and let it out in a cold puff of air.

He’d been losing that feeling.

_But that doesn’t mean she’s not still counting on you,_ he reasoned, shutting his eyes.

Reaching behind him, he rapped his knuckles against the door.

_Knock, knock._

There was an excited gasp, followed by a quiet, relieved laugh. “Who is there?”

He opened one eyesocket, giving a half-smile. “Dwayne.”

“Dwayne who?”

Covering his mouth with one hand, he did the best imitation of a gargle he could as he replied: “Dwayne the tub, I’m dwowning.”

And once again, the rich laughter rang out from behind the door, and his soul was lightened, just a little.

“Now,” she said as her laughter calmed, and he could hear the smile in her voice, “it is my turn.”

_Knock, knock._

He felt a grin—a genuine one—tug at his mouth, and he turned, keeping his shoulder to the door. “Who’s there?”

“Boo.”

The smile dropped to a neutral one. _Oh._ “Uh, boo who?”

“Do not cry! It is only a joke!”

Slowly he slid to a seated position. _Bad timing, lady,_ he thought, and forced out a laugh, even as the memory of his brother sobbing into his shoulder played out in his head. “H-heh. Good one.”

There was a silence, and he heard her shuffle behind the door. “…Is something wrong?” she asked.

“Nah,” he answered quickly, shrugging. “It’s nothing.”

“Do not think that because I cannot see you, I cannot hear the changes in your voice.”

Sans cocked an eyebrow. _Darn. She’s good._

“You are always free to talk to me about things, if you wish. But you do not have to take me up on that offer.” She paused. “Either way, it is your turn.”

Sighing, he shuffled into a more comfortable position, and reached his hand up over his shoulder to knock again. But he paused, pulling it back down and staring at his hand. “Well,” he began, and did not continue.

“Yes?”

He continued to stare for a moment before waving his hand dismissively, then shoved it into his hoodie pocket. “Nah. Don’t wanna bother you with this stuff.”

He could hear the smile in her voice again, but it was a wry one. “Unless you are taking too much candy from my candy bowl, I do not think it is _possible_ to bother me anymore.” The smile dropped. “Will you not tell me what is on your mind?”

For a moment he almost declined her offer, but stopped himself. “Guess I can’t turn down a _sweet_ deal like that, can I?” He took a moment to savor her laugh before moving on. “It’s… ah, just someone I know.”

“Is it one of the people you have told me about?”

_Yes._ “Nah, just someone.”

“What is the matter?”

“Well…” He stared down at his slippers, trying to figure out how to phrase this without giving everything away. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea. “Something’s wrong with them, I guess, and I’d like to help.”

“Do you know what is wrong?”

“That’s the thing.” He shrugged. “I don’t know. They won’t tell me.”

To his surprise, her laughter rang out again, and he could just barely feel the vibrations through the door.

“Hey, I tell a lot of jokes, but uh… that wasn’t one of ‘em.”

“I am sorry! It is just that your problem sounds quite _familiar_.”

_What is she… oh._ Sans rubbed his hand over his face, grinning at his own hypocrisy. “Yeah, guess you got me there.”

“Mmm. With that in mind, perhaps you might understand why someone might not want to discuss their troubles with you?”

_Because… he doesn’t want to bother me?_ His smile faltered back to a neutral one. “Not sure it’s that simple. I feel like… there’s something going on.”

“Why do you feel that?”

_Because I found him in the middle of the forest with half his armor missing and his body covered in bruises. Because he flinches every time I touch him. Because he cries out in his sleep._ “Dunno. Hasn’t been looking all that well, I guess.”

“So you fear something may have happened to them.”

_I_ know _something’s happened to him._ “Yeah, I guess.”

“Do you believe they may still be in danger?”

Sans paused. “I don’t know, actually.”

“…Well.” He heard her shift behind the door. “You cannot make them talk. Doing so may harm them further, if they have indeed been harmed.”

“So… how’m I supposed to help?”

Silence.

Sans waited, and for a few minutes, there was still no reply. He’d begun to wonder if she was lost in her thoughts, or if she had just left—to leave him to figure this out himself—but that didn’t seem like her.

…From what little he knew about a woman he’d never seen, anyway.

“You…”

There was a slight waver in her voice, and Sans sat upright.

“You must let them come to you on their own. But… keep an eye on them. _Please_.”

Even through the door, he could hear the slight catch in her voice, and his soul shivered. If he didn’t know any better, it sounded like she’d been in his place, once.

“Do you know them well?” she went on. “Do they trust you?”

“Yes.” He swallowed dryly, leaning against the door. “I think he does. I… I hope he does.” Immediately he caught the slip and cringed.

“Then let… him know that you are there. Let him know that he can come to you.” She shifted again, and from the slight muffled quality of her voice, he knew her face was close to the door. “I do not know what has happened to your… friend, but I do know this: if he has been hurt, he may do something very foolish.”

He drew in a sharp breath he didn’t need.

“Please see to it that he does not.”

_Bzzt, bzzt._

Sans shut his eyesockets tight, debating on turning his phone off rather than reading the message. But then the thought occurred to him that Papyrus might need him, and he sat up, whipping out his phone. There was one from a little earlier that he’d missed—from Doggo, by the looks of it—but the newest one was not Papyrus, nor was it one of the other sentries.

_Sans, u should check ur brother’s station. Camera went out & I’m worried. :( Heard some1 got hurt near there yesterday???_

Eye sockets narrowing, he stared at the message for a moment before pocketing his phone. “Thanks, lady,” he said, turning back to the door. “I’ll keep ya posted.”

“Please do.”

“Look, uh, I gotta head out. They need me to investigate something in the forest.”

“…Very well. It was nice talking to you.”

The sadness in her voice did not go unnoticed, and he felt a pang of sympathy in his soul. “See ya, lady.”

“Goodbye.”

 

* * *

 

 

Papyrus felt like he was wading through a dream.

In reality, he was wading through a few feet of deep snow, but he could barely feel the coldness of the air or the wetness of the snow around him. The trees in the forest seemed distant and wavering, and Flowey…

…no, Flowey was there. If he weren’t, he wouldn’t be following him.

_You could turn around,_ a faraway part of him was saying. _You could turn around and call for help._

_And then he’ll hurt you,_ a closer, more terrified part of him said. _Just do what he wants, and he won’t hurt you. Besides, you’re his friend, aren’t you?_

A shudder racked his frame, and he pressed on, barely keeping his focus on the flower that kept popping up just a few feet ahead of him.

It felt like a long time to be plowing through the snow, but in reality it only took a minute or two for them to reach their destination—a large, fallen tree. Papyrus stared down at it dully, not fully registering the sight. A detached part of his mind recognized it as an old tree that he would constantly hear creaking behind his station—the sound could get grating on windy days.

But as he stared, he began to notice that the snow around the log was not disturbed in the way it would normally be when a tree fell. Papyrus had wandered around the forest enough in his lifetime to know the difference. This snow looked like it had been dug up—frantically, from the looks of things—and there were still pawprints and talon-marks surrounding it.

Papyrus stared at the scene for several moments, uncomprehending. He turned to Flowey, who stared back at him expectantly.

“What happened?” he finally asked.

“Come on, Papyrus. I know you’re smarter than that.”

He was too tired—his mind was in too much of a fog to decipher something like this. Still, he would try. He stared hard at the scene, trying to put the pieces together. Obviously several monsters had taken interest in this scene—the paws were from dogs, meaning some sentries had been here, and the talons were probably from snowdrakes.

…Snowdrakes…

The pain in the back of his head flared up, and he frantically looked around the scene again, hoping desperately he was wrong. A distance off from the log, he saw two sets of talon-prints—one slightly larger than the other—and only one set leaving with the paw prints.

That meant…

“H-he…” he stammered, staring at the footprints. “A snowdrake… w-was hurt here.” _And carried away,_ he thought frantically. _And carried away, carried home where he would be healed and be okay with a little bit of rest—_

“You could say that,” Flowey interrupted, looking pointedly down at where the snow had been partially dug away beneath the log.

Dug away. They would have to dig him out. Of course. That made sense. They dug him out and carried him away. But…there was no sign of a body being dragged. Only digging with paws and talons. Only digging.

No body being dragged.

Only digging.

Two sets of talon-prints, then only one.

Only digging.

It made perfect sense. The pieces fit. He’d solved the puzzle, made every X an O, and now the spikes were gone. And yet he couldn’t move on—all he could do was stare at the completed picture.

He found himself on his knees before he realized he’d fallen. His hand reached out to the snow that had been dug up, only to pull away, afraid of what his glove might pick up.

He wasn’t far from his own sentry station. It had felt like a long trek, but it wasn’t at all. With his long legs, he could have gotten there in less than a minute, if he’d needed to.

He’d needed to yesterday.

But he hadn’t been there.

Flowey’s vine was on his shoulder, and he jumped.

“Guess you shouldn’t be slacking off then, huh?”

The vine lifted, and everything seemed to slow down. He could hardly think—all he could see was the spot in the snow where a young monster had once lain, and never gotten up. Where he had turned to…

His mind refused to think any further on it. All he could do was stare.

Papyrus didn’t know how long he’d been sitting there, nor did he notice that Flowey hadn’t said anything in some time. But slowly he became aware of a steady sound somewhere behind him—a soft _crunch, crunch, crunch_ that suddenly quickened in pace.

“Papyrus—?!”

He turned quickly, fumbling in the deep snow, magic rushing and eyes wide, even when he saw the other skeleton a few feet off. It took a split second for his panic to subside enough for him to recognize Sans, and then it dropped off sharply, plunging him back down into foggy numbness. Once again he found himself wondering if he was dreaming—wondering if maybe he’d fallen asleep at his station and dreamed this entire nightmare up. Nothing had felt real since Flowey had approached him. He wasn’t even sure if Sans was real.

Sans was at his side before Papyrus realized he’d moved. Papyrus blinked dully at him.

“What are you _doing_ here?” Sans asked, stooping down to place a hand on his shoulder.

The contact snapped him out of it, and he jerked away. “I-I… h-had to go to work,” he answered slowly, staring at the trail of footprints—his own boots, Sans’s slippers, and faint depressions in the snow every few feet or so. His non-existent stomach twisted; he felt the urge to turn around to look at the fallen tree, but at the same time, he was afraid it would actually be there.

“Bro, _why_ would you go to work today?” Sans threw out his hands in exasperation, only to soften when Papyrus flinched. “Can’t you take it easy for a while?”

Take it easy— _slack off_ —that’s what he’d done, and that’s what had… that’s why… Shuddering, he hesitantly turned his head, saw the tree again, and buried his face in his hands.

Off to his side, he could hear his brother give a deep sigh. “That wasn’t your fault.”

Anger shot through him like one of Undyne’s spears. “ _Yes_ it was!” he yelled, balling his hands into fists and hitting the snow beside him. It didn’t make any kind of satisfying sound, but Sans stepped back nonetheless. “This is our _job_ , Sans! This is why I can’t miss work! Th-this… this is…”

_…All your fault,_ one voice in his head finished, just before another one spoke up frantically, _but it’s okay you can try better next time, you can do better, you still have another chance—_

_But the snowdrake won’t get another chance._

He shivered, enough to make his bones rattle.

_Because he’s gone._

Papyrus wasn’t sure when he’d started crying, but he couldn’t stop, howling into his gloves as the weight of the situation crashed over him, suffocating him, threatening to crush him and drown him and _a child is dead because of me and I can’t save him—_

Sans gently wrapped an arm around him, sitting quietly with him in the deep snow. After a few seconds, Papyrus finally buried his head into his brother’s shoulder, sobs briefly choking into a whimper when Sans leaned his skull against his with a dull _clunk_. It took a moment for him to register the things his brother was whispering— _it’s not your fault, don’t blame yourself, don’t ever think this is your fault, his dust isn’t on you._

It made no difference; nothing could shake the thought of _if only I’d been there._

While he had no idea how long he’d been crying, by the time he finished, his ribcage ached badly and he felt sick. His breaths were deep and shaky, each one briefly deepening the pain in his ribs, but he couldn’t stop.

Sans was still with him, still holding him and occasionally rubbing one of his shoulders. He waited for his breathing to calm down, then sat back, standing up and reaching out his hand. “C’mon. Let’s go back to your station.”

Drawing in one more deep, shuddering breath, he accepted his brother’s hand, and got to his feet. A wave of dizziness hit him, causing him to sway, but Sans wrapped an arm around his back again, keeping him steady. It took another few moments before he was able to step through the snow, working out the numbness in his limbs.

He could feel Sans’s gaze on him as he walked, but he could hear the vertebrae practically crack as his brother snapped his head toward him, staring accusingly at the back of his skull. “Who did _that_?”

So much had been going on that Papyrus had nearly forgotten the bruise on the back of his head. “Th… the other snowdrake,” he answered, shutting his eyes for a moment as he struggled to produce a name. He felt like he was dredging something out of thick muck within his mind before the memory finally emerged: “Ch-chill. Chilldrake.”

“Yeah, well I’m not very _chill_ with him attacking my bro like that,” Sans spat. “What does he—”

“He was upset,” Papyrus interrupted, stopping to rub the back of his head. It was still tender. “H-he… probably th-thinks I…”

“It’s _not_ your fault, bro.” The phrase sounded like little more than a chant now, and did about as much good as one.

They were coming up to his sentry station now, and Papyrus willed himself to walk a little faster so he could reach his stool that much sooner. Said stool was lying on the ground, and he stooped down to pick it up.

“You, uh, see anyone mess with the trees around here?” Sans asked suddenly, and he looked back at his brother in confusion. The shorter skeleton was staring at a spot on the ground, then looking up at one of the nearby pines.

He had no idea what his brother was getting at, and merely shrugged. “I didn’t see anything,” he answered, setting his stool back up and taking a seat.

To his surprise, Sans approached him a moment later, holding out a water sausage in a bun. Papyrus recoiled from it, trying to push his brother’s hand away.

“Just a bite,” Sans pleaded. “You haven’t been eating enough.”

_And eating junk food won’t help,_ he wanted to argue, but he was too exhausted at this point. He took the hot dog from his brother and stared at it—no condiments on it, at least. Hesitantly he held it up to his mouth and took a bite.

The taste was _revolting_ and the texture of the seed pod was gritty and unpleasant, and it took what remaining willpower he had not to cough it up over his hoodie. Forcefully he swallowed it down, and handed the rest of it back to Sans. He couldn’t tell if it actually increased his HP or not; he felt too sick and too tired to care.

For a brief moment, he wondered if this was how Sans felt all the time.

“Hey.” Sans stooped down, picking up the string of lights he’d had stored under his counter. “Where’d this come from?”

“Gyftrot,” Papyrus mumbled. “H-helped one earlier.”

“Huh. Those things don’t usually head up that hill by their caves.”

“She didn’t. I-I was down there, by the cliff when she saw me.”

When Sans didn’t reply, Papyrus glanced over at him, only to blink when he noticed his brother’s eyes were devoid of pupils. Strange. What had gotten him so upset? “She… wasn’t hurt,” he said slowly. “I-I untangled her from the lights, and she—”

“Don’t go down there.” Sans’s pupils flickered back into view, tiny pinpricks of light that stared up at him warily. “ _Please_.” He wrapped his arm around Papyrus’s back, holding on perhaps a little too tight.

Papyrus cringed, pulling away and rubbing carefully over where Sans had been holding his ribcage.

“Look, you shouldn’t even be out here at all.” Sans had turned to the east, looking back toward Snowdin. “You’re not well enough to—”

“ _NO_!” Papyrus wailed, clumsily jumping up from his stool and nearly knocking the thing over again. “I-I can’t leave! I-if I don’t stand sentry, then—”

“ _Papyrus_.” Sans buried his face in his hands for a moment, then turned to stare at him again. “That _wasn’t your fault_. You didn’t—”

“It _was_!” he cried. “I-if I hadn’t missed work—”

The words came tumbling out from Sans’s mouth, faster than he’d ever heard his brother speak. “You would’ve limped over there on a screwed-up leg, not have enough magic to lift the tree, and be too wiped out to lift it up on your own. Then you would’ve seen him dust first-hand. Is that what you wanted to do?”

Sans’s height reached his chest, but Papyrus felt several feet smaller than his brother at the words. He was so _stupid_. Sans was right. His injuries and completely drained magic reserves would have made it impossible to do anything to help the situation.

…But those had been his fault in the first place.

“I…” he stared blankly at the ground, tugging on his scarf until it nearly choked him. “I-if I… i-if I hadn’t gone to…”

Sans’s eyesockets widened, and he took a step forward. “…Gone where?”

He really _did_ feel like he was choking now. He couldn’t say it—if he told him how stupid he’d been, how weak he’d been to let Flowey overpower him… if he told him how _disgusting_ he felt…

Sans had already torn him down for thinking he could do anything about the snowdrake. He couldn’t bear him saying anything about what had happened to him the night before.

“A few nights ago…” Sans began, and Papyrus stiffened, “were you on your way to somewhere when—?”

“ _No_!” he blurted out, hugging his ribcage.

“So you went to that clearing specific—”

“ _Please_ ,” Papyrus whimpered, hunching his shoulders and hanging his head. _Please don’t make me remember._

“…I’m sorry.” Sans sighed. “I just… wish I knew how to help you, bro.”

Papyrus looked up, seeing his brother staring at him, and met his gaze.

_…I wish I did, too._

After a few moments, Sans turned back toward Snowdin again. “If you don’t want to go home… then at least come with me to Snowdin, so we can…” He shrugged helplessly. “I don’t know, get you some pain relievers for that headache of yours, or see if someone can heal that bruise.”

Papyrus winced. “But—”

“It’ll be like a patrol, Paps. We’ll check the area as we go, all right?”

That… didn’t sound like a bad idea, and getting something to get rid of the pain in his head would be nice. “A-all… all right.”

Immediately Sans relaxed, his smile looking just the slightest bit more genuine. “Great. C’mon.”

He led him through the trees, opting to take the scenic route rather than the cleared paths that sentries usually took. Papyrus suspected Sans was helping him avoid the other sentries, and he was grateful for it.

What he was not grateful for was the fact that Sans was checking his phone while they walked. Hasn’t he said they were going to be patrolling? Not that Papyrus could focus enough to spot anything odd in the forest at this point, but—

Sans stopped, staring blankly at his phone, then turned back to him, sockets wide. “Were you _screaming_ earlier?”

What was he…? Papyrus looked at the phone Sans was holding, then at him, and quickly made the connection. Doggo must have… _oh_.

“I… I was,” he stammered, suddenly looking down at an ugly patch of thistles that was springing out of the snow. “Wh-when… when I saw…” He trailed off, hoping Sans would assume incorrectly.

He did.

“…Sorry, bro,” he said, pocketing his phone and moving through the snow again. “Everything about it’s pretty bad… but you can’t—”

“I know,” Papyrus cut in. He knew Sans meant well, but his reassurances were sounding more and more meaningless. At this point he wanted nothing more than for his bones to be healed and his memory of the last few days to be wiped entirely; then, maybe, he could go back to being happy. Maybe he could go back to worrying about whether or not he would have time to build a snow skeleton, instead of worrying about indirectly causing someone’s death.

…Instead of worrying about vines slithering out of nowhere to hold him down against his will.

His nausea flared up, and the only thing that kept him from vomiting was the fact that he lacked a stomach to do it with.

The rest of their trek passed on in relative silence. Eventually they had to get back onto the main road, crossing Papyrus’s ice switch puzzle and slipping through the shaded path. Papyrus had more trouble than ever before on the icy ground, constantly falling over and needing Sans’s help to get back onto his feet. He’d known he was tired, but his exhaustion was really starting to set in.

They passed Greater Dog’s station for lack of a way to avoid it, and while the guard approached them, he fortunately didn’t try to tackle them to the ground as he sometimes would. Papyrus winced back, however, when the dog sniffed over him before sitting back with a loud sneeze.

“Got a cold there, big guy?” Sans asked casually, watching the dog paw at his nose.

Greater Dog shook his head—in the way dogs normally do, as opposed to in a way that would answer the question—and sniffed at Papyrus one more time, only to sneeze and growl.

“Eh, probably allergies, then.” Sans shrugged, moving on, as Papyrus stood dumbly for a moment, remembering the vines that had taken hold of him a few times today.

Greater Dog cocked his head.

“P-probably the thistles,” Papyrus stammered, staggering off after Sans and leaving the guard whining in confusion.

By the time they reached Snowdin, Papyrus was struggling to keep focus; all he could think about was how tired and sore he was. Every time his thoughts drifted back to what he’d discovered today, and _whom_ he’d encountered, his mind yanked away like a hand from a hot iron. His worn-out state was a problem, but it was a manageable one—it was something he could deal with. He couldn’t deal with anything else, not now.

Unfortunately, life didn’t work that way.

“SPEAK OF THE DEVIL!”

The voice was loud enough to pierce through the fog of Papyrus’s thoughts, and more than loud enough for half the town to hear. But it wasn’t the volume of the voice that had him concerned: it was the owner.

Dressed in full armor and carrying her helmet under her arm, Undyne marched purposefully toward the skeletons.

Her gaze was locked on Papyrus.


	10. Captain and Sentry

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Snowballs and accusations, spears and discussions, lights and commands.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have to say I'm just as surprised as you are that the next chapter's finished already. Let's hope I can keep this writing groove going!
> 
> Another thank-you to my beta reader for helping me with this.

Papyrus had no idea what Undyne was doing here, but the fact that she was dressed in full armor told him that it was not for a friendly chat.

His thoughts scattered into a confused mess of possibilities: Was she holding him responsible for the death of the snowdrake? Did she think he had killed him intentionally? Was she going to fire him? _Arrest_ him? What if she found out about…?!

“ _Hey_!” Sans shouted, suddenly in front of Papyrus and spreading his arms. “What’s the deal?”

Slowly, Papyrus became aware of the fact that he was weakly mumbling jumbled apologies, and found he was having trouble getting his legs to work.

Undyne either didn’t hear what he was saying, or didn’t care. Either way, as soon as she was close enough, she reached over Sans’s head, grabbed Papyrus by the arm, and tugged him out from behind his brother. “C’mere, you!”

Papyrus’s legs gave out, leaving Undyne to drag him through the snow and up to a very angry—if bewildered—adult snowdrake. A shorter one wearing sunglasses was huddled beneath his parent’s wing. In one quick motion, Undyne heaved Papyrus up and planted him right in front of the younger monster.

“Now, give it to us straight, Papyrus,” Undyne said, holding her hand against his back. It was the only thing keeping him from tipping over. “Did you attack this kid?”

It took a moment for the question to sink in. He blinked once, twice, staring down at the blue-green monster for a moment before registering it as the one he’d seen earlier today. This was what Undyne had come to ask him about?

“What do you think you’re—?!” Sans’s voice wasn’t one well-suited for yelling, and its strained quality proved it. It had taken him a moment to catch up with Undyne in his slippers.

“They say Papyrus attacked their kid,” Undyne answered, “and I’m getting the full story. …Wait a sec.” She must have spotted the bruise on the back of his head, because Papyrus felt her gauntlet suddenly brush against it. “What the—?”

Papyrus wanted to move away from Undyne’s touch, but he was afraid he would fall over. “I… it wasn’t his fault…” he said weakly.

“That’s what I thought! Here—” Without warning, Undyne grabbed him by the shoulder, turning him around to display the sizeable bruise on the back of his skull.

Any other time he wouldn’t have cared about Undyne manhandling him, but now her dragging him around, combined with everything _else_ going on, was wearing on him. Blue wisps of unformed magic flicked around his hands for a moment before he forced them down.

“Kid, did _you_ do this?” he heard Undyne ask, and the sound of talons shuffling in the snow followed.

“I-I…” Chilldrake fluttered his wings, voice shaky. “H-he had it coming! I-it was all _his_ fault! I-if it weren’t for him, S-Snowy would…”

Papyrus hung his head, and Sans reached out, gently rubbing his arm.

To their surprise, Undyne’s voice sounded the slightest bit softer. “So attacking a sentry’s gonna bring him back?”

The young monster sniffled, and his voice became more muffled—perhaps he’d buried his face into his parent’s side. “I… I don’t know…”

Now it was the adult’s turn to speak. “…Chilldrake should not have done that,” they admitted, “but neither should the sentry have attacked my son.”

“…I-I’m s-sorry…” Papyrus whimpered, wishing he could just sink into the snow and disappear there.

There was a split second of hesitation before Undyne responded. “Well, he obviously didn’t hurt ‘im.” She placed a hand on Papyrus’s shoulder, leaning over into his field of vision. “But I think even a warning like that’s a bit overkill, Paps.”

It hadn’t been a warning. Papyrus shut his eyes.

“Indeed,” the adult snowdrake returned. “What if it had hit my son?”

“Well, it didn’t.” Undyne looked over Papyrus again, frowning. “But man, how many times did your kid hit _him_?”

Her hand was suddenly at his exposed spine, and Papyrus yelped, staggering forward. He would have toppled over had Sans not caught him.

“…You okay?” The snow crunched as Undyne took a step back.

No one spoke for a moment, and Papyrus knew they were staring at him. He struggled to stay upright; his legs were shaking.

Sans finally broke the silence. “We need to get home,” he announced, and immediately began leading Papyrus back to their house.

“…Right. Anyway…” Undyne must have turned to the snowdrake again. “This isn’t gonna happen again, especially if your kid doesn’t lash out at anyone.” Her armor clanked as she stooped down, but Papyrus and Sans were already too far away to hear what she said to Chilldrake.

If a few people had been staring at Papyrus this morning, everyone was certainly staring at him now as Sans walked him home.

All he could do was pull his scarf up around his face and wish this would soon be forgotten.

 

* * *

 

Sans shut the cabinet door with far more force than was necessary. It squeaked on its hinges, bouncing back open before slowly swinging closed again, and he stared at it, too angry and lost in his thoughts to do anything else.

That had been a disaster.

He had been hoping that taking Papyrus back to Snowdin would convince him to just go home and rest, but he hadn’t meant for it to happen like _this_. Papyrus lying was in bed now, at least, and Sans hoped to Asgore the pain medication would knock him out and at least give him a _little_ peace. Goodness knew he could use some after the incident in the forest and the crap Undyne dragged him through.

_BANG, BANG._

“Hey, open up!”

Sans grit his teeth, his mouth twisted into as much of a snarl as possible. While he was tempted to just leave her standing out in the snow to freeze her gills off, he knew she’d just kick the door open if he waited too long. Taking a moment to collect himself, he approached the door, opened it, and quickly slipped out.

Undyne was there, of course, her helmet still under her arm. “Are you gonna let me in, or—?”

Sans shut the door behind him.

“Okay, fine, if you wanna freeze your butt off out here.”

Any other time he would have made a joke about his lack of certain body parts. Now was not any other time. “What,” he whispered harshly, “did you think you were doing?”

“Settling a conflict,” Undyne retorted. “Word got to me that one of the sentries had attacked a kid. We’ve already got a mess here with…” She glanced away, the frills behind her jaw briefly drooping. Shaking her head, she looked back at Sans. “Things’d turn into chaos if people thought you guys were attacking people.”

“Yeah, and putting Papyrus on the spot like that sure helped.”

“How was I supposed to know he’d _admit_ to it?!” Undyne shouted, showing fangs.

Sans jerked a finger up to his mouth, glancing up at the house before looking Undyne in the eye.

Undyne got the message, and sighed through her teeth. Turning around, she took a seat on the porch, probably more to get closer to Sans’s eye level than anything else. But she wasn’t looking him in the eye—she was staring at the snow. “That’s not like him.”

Sans didn’t sit next to her. “I know.”

“And I know he gets over it pretty fast when he takes a beating after training. It sure as heck isn’t like him to _flip out_ if I give him a bad poke or two.” She frowned, gazing hard at Sans. “What happened?”

For a moment he only tipped his head back, staring at the distant ceiling and wishing a hundred times over that he hadn’t made any promises to Papyrus. “…He’s shaken up from the kid’s death,” he said, finally. “Blames himself for it.”

“Well… look, I’m not accusing him or anything, but why _wasn’t_ he there?” She set her helmet down, eyeing Sans again.

“Not accusing him?” Sans repeated, mouth curving into a humorless smile. “Sounds like that’s _exactly_ what you’re doing.”

“I’m his _friend_ , you idiot! Why would I want him in trouble?!” Undyne snarled. When he gave her a look, she forced herself to calm down. “Meanwhile,” she said, her voice a harsh whisper, “ _you’re_ not looking much better, dodging the question like that.”

Sans managed to resist flinching—she was right about that. He hated to admit it, but she was right.

“Look, I get reports from the other guards on who’s at their posts or patrols and who isn’t. Papyrus is _never_ gone. He’s _never_ late. Heck, Dogamy told me a few months back that he’d gone to work _sick_ because he didn’t want to miss a day.”

Sans winced; he’d forgotten about that. “He’s…” he started, and faltered.

“And another thing…” Undyne leaned closer, lowering her voice without being told to, for once. “Chilldrake said he _didn’t_ leave that bruise on Papyrus’s spine. Care to explain that?”

Sans turned to face Undyne fully. She was staring directly into his eyesockets, her eyebrows furrowed, her slit pupil narrow.

He knew exactly what she was thinking, and she was dead wrong.

_…I’m sorry, Papyrus. This’s gonna get a whole lot worse if I keep trying to cover this._

Heaving a deep sigh, Sans sat heavily on the porch next to Undyne. He kept his gaze trained on her eye; he was afraid she would get the wrong idea if he didn’t. “You can’t tell a soul about this,” he whispered.

Undyne’s hands clenched. “What happened.”

“…A couple nights ago, I woke up in the house, and Papyrus wasn’t there.” He could still remember the harsh cold of the wind and snow howling around him—skin or no skin, it hadn’t been pleasant. His bones rattled in a shiver. “Someone said they saw him heading out of town. I got the Dogi to help me, and… well, they picked up his scent, but I was the one who found him. He…”

His soul gave a pained throb at the memory, and guilt gnawed at him—he couldn’t believe he was breaking his promise to his brother, and spilling this to _Undyne_ , of all people. How could this whole ordeal possibly stay secret now?

Dropping his head, he covered his face in his hands and went silent. His voice was a harsh whisper when he spoke up again. “You can’t let Paps know I’m telling you this.”

After a moment, he looked up to meet her gaze again. The anger was still there, but it wasn’t directed at him, at least.

He stared at her, steeling himself. “Someone had attacked Papyrus.”

Undyne was on her feet in an instant, a teal spear materializing in her grasp.

“I’ll kill them.”

Sans was on his feet, too, holding up his hands. “Don’t—”

“Who was it?” Undyne took a step closer to him so he had to crane his neck to look up at her. “What did they look like? Was it someone from the Ruins? One of the villagers? I swear I will drag them out by the _ear_ and—”

“I _don’t know_ ,” Sans hissed. “There wasn’t a trace of who had hurt him, and Paps won’t say anything.”

“You didn’t _ask_?”

“I _did_!” He clenched his fists, eye sockets narrowing. “He just—he clams up whenever I try to talk to him about it. He’s been a wreck for two days now, and I’m not gonna force him to say anything.”

Undyne jabbed her spear harshly into the ground, her fist still clenched around it. She hissed a curse from between her fangs, staring at the front door to the house.

“ _Don’t_.”

“What do you think I’m gonna do, hold him down and interrogate him?” Undyne snapped, shooting a glare at him. “I’m not an idiot. But we need to find out who did this to him.”

Sans quickly stepped in front of the door. “You can’t talk to him,” he said, voice wavering the slightest bit. “Not now, while he’s…”

Undyne ran a hand over her face. “And while we’re waiting for him to recover, his attacker’s gonna go hurt someone else. Is _that_ what you want?”

If Sans had had internal organs, they would have gone cold. “…What?”

“Whoever hurt Papyrus is still out there—they’re free to hurt someone else. Or hurt Papyrus again.”

Sans felt sick. He’d been so focused on taking care of Papyrus that he hadn’t thought about whoever had hurt him striking _again_. Shoving his hands into his pockets, he stared absently at the spear that Undyne had left. “Look,” he said, finally. “I’ll try to get some information out of him myself, all right? You’ll…” He heaved a defeated sigh. “You’ll be the first to know.”

Undyne nodded solemnly, then stooped down to pick up her helmet. Before putting it on, she paused, and gave Sans an almost sheepish look. “Sure I can’t, like, say _something_ to him? I’d like to apologize for scaring the tar out of him, at least.”

While part of him suspected she was just saying that so she could get the chance to squeeze some information out of Papyrus, her posture and expression said otherwise. He hesitated a moment before opening the door.

“ _Finally_ ,” she sighed, rubbing her neck as she stepped in. The magic spear in front of the porch disappeared. “Thought my gills were gonna freeze out there.”

Sans stepped in as well, shutting the door behind him and keeping still while Undyne stomped up the stairs. He wanted badly to follow her, to make sure she wouldn’t say anything stupid to Papyrus, but hovering over the two would probably just make Papyrus feel worse.

If that were even possible at this point.

…Well, he’d listen for any raised voices, at least. If Undyne said anything to upset Papyrus, Sans would haul her out by the soul. So help him, no one was going to hurt Papyrus again.

He’d make sure of that.

 

* * *

 

Papyrus wasn’t sure what was worse: the pain in his bones, or the nausea in his midsection.

The painkillers he’d taken were supposed to help the former, but only served to intensify the latter. It was probably because he hadn’t eaten enough, but then, eating was _another_ thing that made him feel sick. At least he couldn’t throw up—that was a good thing, right? He should try to focus on the good things right now, little as they were.

Except he was too tired to try to focus on anything, but he felt too sick to sleep. Normally missing sleep didn’t bother him—he could go for several days without napping even once—but now he was so much more _tired_ than usual…

But that was his _own_ fault. He had no one to blame but himself—he’d messed up his own puzzle, tripped up all the triggers, and scattered the solution, and now he had to fix it.

Except everything had become so jumbled that he didn’t know _how_ to fix it anymore.

He wished… he wished he could just _sleep_ , at least. Conk out completely, like Sans so often did. Sleep away the rest of the day and night, and then maybe wake up feeling _slightly_ more capable of untangling the mess he’d found himself in. That would be nice.

If he could just… just ignore the aches in his bones and the sickness in his middle, and sleep…

_Stomp, stomp, stomp, stomp._

Or not.

Someone was heading upstairs, and given the weight behind those steps, that someone was not Sans.

All thoughts of sleeping left him when he realized just who that someone probably was.

Panicking, Papyrus grabbed his covers and flung them over his head, then curled into a shivering ball, hoping the person would maybe overlook the quivering mass of bed sheets. _No no no no no…_

Without so much as a knock, the door swung open, and the figure stepped in. “Hey, Papyrus.”

Normally, Papyrus would enthusiastically greet his captain and best friend, but right now, he only curled up more tightly under the covers. No, no, no—he knew it was his fault, but he wasn’t ready for this…!

“…Paps?” The heavy footfalls came to the head of his bed, and Undyne grabbed his sheets, pulling them back.

Papyrus took one look at Undyne, the light from the hallway glinting on her armor, and shut his eyes. _No, this is all your fault_ , he thought, shakily sitting up. _You have to accept this._

Keeping his eyes shut and his head turned to the side, he finally positioned himself to sit on his knees, and held out both arms straight forward.

There were a few long, tense seconds of silence, barring the sound of Papyrus’s bones rattling in terror.

“…What… are you doing…?”

Risking opening his eyes, Papyrus turned to Undyne, surprised to see the look of utter confusion on her face. “Y-you…” he stammered, finally finding his voice. “D-didn’t you come to arrest me?”

Undyne stared down at him for several more seconds, mouth agape, and suddenly doubled over in laughter.

Papyrus’s arms shook as he continued to hold them out and stared in utter bewilderment at Undyne, wondering why it was taking her so long to handcuff him.

“ _Papyrus_!” she blurted out, wiping tears from her eyes and, with effort, standing back upright. “I’m not gonna _arrest_ you!”

Jaw hanging loose, he dropped his arms to his knees. “B-but… y-you don’t u-understand, Undyne! I a-attacked a child!” He leaned forward desperately, one of his hands shakily tugging at his nightshirt—he’d taken off his scarf. “I c-could have _hurt_ him!”

Undyne’s amused look quickly melted into a concerned one as she stooped down, kneeling by the bed. “Hey, hey,” she said, voice taking a softer tone. “It’s all right. I’ve got everything worked out. You’ll need to be careful that it doesn’t happen again, but…” She rubbed at her face, then glanced aside, almost looking… ashamed? “I just came up here to apologize for hauling you around town like that. I didn’t mean to scare you.”

Papyrus sat back as the implication of her words hit him—she really _wasn’t_ here to arrest him. But… no, that couldn’t be right, he’d…! “B-but I could have _hurt_ him!” he insisted, trying to look Undyne in the eye when she faced him, and staring off to the right of her eyepatch instead. “A-and the other snowdrake, I-I wasn’t… I wasn’t there to…!”

“You were—” She hesitated, biting her lip, then shrugged. “You weren’t feeling well, were you? It was just a sick day. That’s not your fault.”

“ _Yes_ it is!” he cried. He drew in a shuddering breath, feeling tears start to trickle down his cheekbones. Quickly he wiped his sleeve across his face—how could he let _Undyne_ see him cry?! “I-if I hadn’t—”

“ _HEY_!”

Shock quelled any sobs that were threatening to rack his frame, and his head snapped up at the sight of Undyne rising to her full height. She was back to looking like the captain she was, rather than just a friend. Her eye was narrowed.

“Stand up.”

Papyrus obeyed without thinking, standing up on his bed and immediately getting hit with a dizziness spell. Before he could fall over, Undyne grabbed his hands and helped him off of the bed. She then placed one hand firmly on his shoulder, staring at him, and he could not meet her gaze.

“Back straight, sentry.”

With effort, he straightened his back, wincing at the pain—fortunately dulled a little from the painkillers.

“Look me in the eye.”

His jaw quivered; the action seemed impossible.

“I said look me in the _eye_ , sentry.”

Papyrus shut his eyes, a shudder racking his frame, but he couldn’t disobey his boss. “Y… yes, sir,” he said, finally forcing himself to face forward. Though he had to tip his head back a little, due to the height difference, his gaze met her eye, and he was surprised to find that there was no anger in her stare.

“Good,” she said, giving his shoulder a gentle squeeze. She didn’t remove her hand, probably because she knew he would fall over if she did. “Now, repeat after me: I am the Great Papyrus!”

…But she wasn’t— _oh_. He blinked, hesitating. “I-I… I am the… the G-Great Papyrus.” It was hard to put his usual enthusiasm into the words—he felt anything _but_ great.

“What’s that?!” she shouted, and he winced. “I can’t hear you!”

He shut his eyes again, drawing in a deep breath and willing himself to speak louder. “I… I am the G-Great Papyrus!”

“Louder!”

It was hard, but he couldn’t bear to let Undyne down. “I a-am the Great Papyrus!”

“LOUDER!”

In spite of his aching ribs, his chest swelled, and he pushed himself up on his toes. “I AM THE GREAT PAPYRUS!”

“HECK YEAH YOU ARE!” And suddenly the arm that had been at his shoulder was suddenly whipped around his chest, pulling him up against her armor in a crushing hug. She had raised her other arm to noogie him, but stopped when he cried out in pain. “Oh, sorry,” she said, and carefully loosened her grip, though she still kept her arm around him.

“I… it’s okay…” he gasped, feeling winded.

Undyne didn’t release him from the hug, but she gently rubbed her other hand over the top of his skull, like one would ruffle someone’s hair, carefully avoiding the bruise. To his surprise, he found himself leaning against her breastplate, letting his forehead rest there, partially because he was so tired, and partially because he felt… _safe_ … around her.

Papyrus probably would have fallen asleep like that, but finally she took him by the shoulders again, holding him away and stooping down so she was eye level with him. It wasn’t so difficult to look her in the eye, now. “You’re the Great Papyrus, all right?” she said, one side of her mouth curved up in a fangy grin. “Don’t let anyone make you think otherwise!”

The words felt familiar, and he remembered that Sans had told him something similar yesterday. In truth, he felt no “greater” than he did yesterday, but… he would try. “Y-yes, sir!” he said, nodding.

“Good.” She stood upright again, nodding as well. “Dismissed!” With that, she released him.

And given her arms had been the only things supporting him at that point, he fell heavily backward onto his bed.

“…Whoops.”

It had knocked the wind out of him, but he didn’t particularly feel any resentment toward her; his body was light enough and his bed soft enough that it didn’t hurt too much. He could probably fall asleep this way, even with his legs dangling over the edge of the bed. “I-it’s fine,” he murmured, waving a hand and staring dazedly up at his ceiling.

Undyne huffed out a laugh, shaking her head and looking to the side. Here she paused, looking at something on his desk. “What’s this?”

Papyrus lifted his head slightly to see her staring at a wound-up string of holiday lights, and let his head fall again. “H-helped a gyftrot earlier.”

“Huh.” He heard a light scraping against his desk, indicating she had probably picked up the lights, but he was getting too tired to care at this point. He very nearly drifted off when Undyne’s voice boomed out again: “HEY!”

His body lurched in surprise, and, sighing, he pushed himself up on one arm, rubbing his face with his other hand. “Wha… what…?” he asked, struggling to keep his focus on her.

“I know what you can do with this! Hang on.” With that she tossed the string of lights at him and rushed out of the room, her heavy footfalls pounding down the stairs.

Papyrus sighed, sitting upright. He’d just have to accept that he wasn’t going to get any sleep until Undyne left. Even with her out of his room, it was impossible—he could hear a lot of clanging noises downstairs, as well as a few bewildered exclamations from Sans.

It wasn’t long before she was rushing back into his room again, this time without all her heavy armor (she wore a tanktop and shorts underneath) and carrying a hammer and several nails in one hand. What was she going to do, start a construction project in his room?

“I know you’re tired,” she said, stooping down to pick up the string of lights, “but this’ll only take a sec, and you’ll thank me later!”

“A-all right,” Papyrus muttered, shakily shifting over to one side as she stepped up onto his bed next to him. She reached down toward him, and reluctantly he grasped her hand, letting her hoist him up to his feet. He had to lean against the wall to keep upright. “So what are we doing…?”

Undyne was now holding several nails between her fangs as she held out part of the lights to the ceiling. “Somethin’ Alphys showed me!” She pointed the hammer at another section of the lights to indicate it. “Hold that up to th’ the corner of th’ wall n’ ceiling.”

Papyrus did as he was told, blinking wearily as he wondered what, exactly, she was trying to accomplish.

She began to stick the nails between the two wires in the lights and hammer them to the corner. Tired as he was, Papyrus managed to keep holding the other side of the lights up until she reached the end of them—she’d nailed them all around the corner above his bed.

“Too bad this isn’t longer,” Undyne said, stepping off the bed and helping Papyrus back down so he didn’t fall. “Could’ve strung these around your whole room! But I guess this’ll do for now.”

Papyrus watched as she took the plug to the lights and fished around for the outlet between the wall and his bed. She gave a triumphant cry upon finding it, and a second later, the lights switched on.

“There!” she said, crossing her arms. “What do you think?”

Papyrus stared up at the lights, which gave off a warm glow to his corner of the room, and felt a faint smile creeping up his face—the first he’d had in a while. “It looks… really nice,” he said, and meant it. “Th-thank you.”

“No problem, man.” Undyne grinned at him. “Now get to sleep, or your brother’s gonna kill me.”

“R-right.” Carefully he scooted back, easing his sore bones under the covers once more. “Good night, Undyne.”

“See ya, Paps.” And with that, she stepped out of the room—

—only to lean back in again. “Oh, before I forget.”

 _Now what?_ He pushed himself up, trying to look at her through his exhaustion-blurred vision.

She stepped back into the room, her pose radiating authority, even without her armor. “I have a new job for you, sentry!”

Papyrus blinked. “Wh-what is it?”

“I want you—” she pointed directly at him, “—to freakin’ _stay home_ and rest until you feel better. None of this goin’-to-work-when-you’re-feeling-like-crap business!”

In spite of his exhaustion, he gave a jolt of surprise. “B-but—”

“That’s an order!”

“Y… yes, sir.”

“All right.” She was probably grinning, but it was getting hard to tell with how blurred his vision was. “Dismissed!”

And, _finally_ , he heard her march down the stairs. Papyrus sighed, lying back in his bed and welcoming the feeling of his sore bones easing into the mattress. The lights above him were like a gentle nightlight, their soft glow a reminder of at least _one_ good thing he’d managed to do today. Even with how awful he felt, he had that, at least.

And a great friend and captain. He had that, too.

These pleasant thoughts brought a feeling of warmth to Papyrus’s chest, and finally he drifted off to sleep.


	11. A Target Well-Deserving

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An annoyance, a revelation, and a promise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait, again. But here we are! Thanks again to my wonderful beta for editing this for me.
> 
> By the way, there's a couple characters in this chapter that you may be unfamiliar with. Poke around the Undertale wiki when you have time; there's interesting stuff to be found there.

Flowey _hated_ houses. They were rarely easy to get into, and even when he managed _that_ , it was hard to cover his tracks if he wanted to be discreet. And with some houses, such as the skeletons', it wasn't possible at all.

So he would mostly just huddle in the corner by the front porch and wall, or hide beneath a window and try to hear whatever he could without being seen. Even then, he could only get about half a conversation under most circumstances, and now it was even less than that. Normally Papyrus was loud enough to be heard, even from outside, but not so much nowadays. (Flowey had to admit that he'd be a bit proud of that fact, had it not made it more difficult for him to gather information.) Then there was the stupid brother, who barely raised his voice—also useless. That meant the most he could hope for was someone talking by the window, or someone leaving the door open as they talked. At least the latter happened more often than normal in spite of the climate—the skeletons didn't seem to care if a bit of cold air got into the house.

Fortunately, he'd gotten his wish that evening when the hotheaded captain of the Royal Guard had paid a visit, and he'd huddled under a thin layer of snow by the porch.

He'd seen the spectacle in town—a shame it hadn't ended with Papyrus actually getting in trouble, but at least it hadn't left Papyrus totally unscarred. He'd looked like he was about to keel over! Flowey had been hoping that Undyne was going to come to their house to accuse Papyrus—maybe drag him off someplace where he'd be vulnerable—but that, sadly, had not been the case.

What was _almost_ the case was that Papyrus's brother nearly got accused of being the one to hurt Papyrus. Now _that_ would have been a riot! He'd keep that idea around for later, but for now he was interested in seeing what was playing out here, and how it would influence his plans. It had sounded like the dumb skeleton didn't even know what had really happened to Papyrus—which was probably for the better, at the moment. It'd be an excellent shock to his system when he found out. Flowey had plans for that, too, if Papyrus's brother didn't grow a brain in a day or two, or Papyrus didn't spill the beans. (Not likely, he figured, given he probably didn't even know what had happened to him.)

Flowey'd had a hard time stifling a giggle when Undyne pointed out that people would be in danger if they didn't find Papyrus's attacker.

 _Oh, you have_ no _idea!_

He didn't leave when Papyrus's brother finally let Undyne in the house. The fish surely wouldn't stay there all night, and there might be more information to be heard when she left.

And as usual, his predictions were right on the money.

Flowey had been watching carefully through the window as Undyne trudged down the stairs and put her armor on. While she was loud, it was still a bit difficult to make out what she was saying around all the clanking, but he caught a bit of it:

"...redecorated... room... night light… bed! ...cheer him..."

He made a face. _Boy, a night light! That'll fix everything, won't it?_ It wasn't particularly useful information either, which was annoying.

Papyrus's brother was talking now, but he couldn't hear anything other than a faint mumble through the window and a clanking noise as Undyne walked toward the door.

...The door!

Zipping under the snow, Flowey burrowed over to the porch, back to his hiding spot from earlier. Sure enough, the door opened, and Undyne stepped out.

"...so be sure he _stays_ there, all right?" she said, still holding the front door open.

Perfect.

"I can't make any promises," Papyrus's brother said in a defeated tone. "Papyrus isn't one for staying in one place. He wouldn't even stay home today, despite how bad he felt."

"He'd better this time, since he's under direct orders from _me_."

Flowey gave a start. _You mean you're making him_ stay _in the house?_ His vines coiled in the ground; that made things more of a pain for him.

"But I'm still supposed to go to work tomorrow, right?" The trashbag's voice had an incredulous tone to it. "Leave him alone in the house?"

 _Yes_ , Flowey wished, glaring at the snow over his head.

"I'll take care of that. _You_ patrol the forest and try to find some information on his attacker, if he won't tell you himself." There was some more clanking, and Undyne's voice sounded slightly echoed afterward—she'd probably put on her helmet. "I'm making that your official assignment: find out who hurt him, and then report to me _immediately_. Is that clear, sentry?"

"You got it, cap'n."

"Good. Dismissed."

"Goodnight to you, too."

The sounds of armor clanking and snow crunching signified that Undyne was leaving, and the sound of the door shutting confirmed it. Once the footfalls were far enough away, Flowey resurfaced, shaking the snow off his petals.

Boy, these guys sure knew how to tick him off.

No matter. He'd get Papyrus out of the house, one way or another, and those idiots would only realize their mistake when it was too late.

 

* * *

 

Sans wanted to be sitting at one of his sentry stations, selling hot dogs and making passersby laugh. He wanted to be standing by the door, telling jokes to the lady. He wanted to be lying in his room, sleeping on his crappy mattress.

He wanted to be anywhere but here, in his brother's room, standing a few feet off from the racecar bed.

At least Papyrus was sleeping soundly, for the time being. He was huddled underneath his covers, looking peaceful for the first time in a while, the image emphasized by the soft lights glowing overhead.

If Sans tried to forget the events of the past few days, he could just pretend that he was only here to check up on his brother—that nothing bad had happened, and that he'd only had a nightmare and was just making sure that Papyrus was okay.

But that was not the case, and it was stupid to try to imagine otherwise.

His left hand twitched—the reason he was here was underhanded and awful, and he hated himself for even attempting it. But it was either this, or waiting for Papyrus to tell him on his own… and with the attacker still lurking in the shadows somewhere, he couldn't wait that long.

Drawing in a deep breath, Sans stared directly at his brother's chest, and his left eye flashed blue.

Papyrus's soul was visible in an instant, glowing a dark blue color through his ribs and pajama shirt, and—

_Two hundred forty-seven HP._

_Magic reserves at half._

_Exhaustion. Fear. Discomfort._

Not many monsters understood this kind of magic—as far as they knew, all turning a soul blue did was enable the user to pull said monster around by the soul. That much was true, but it wasn't nearly all.

Turning a soul blue gave the user a direct contact with that soul—a way to _read_ it.

It wasn't all that neat or easy, of course. Turning someone blue was normally just used in training or battle, when there wasn't really time to read much more than HP and magic content. It took a lot of effort and energy to read anything beyond that, unless the user was close to the soul being affected.

With Papyrus, he could quickly tell his most immediate emotions with a quick touch… and if he really wanted to, he could dig a bit deeper than that.

It wouldn't be the first time he'd ever done it, but it was the first time in a _long_ time. He'd been watching over Papyrus since his younger brother had been just a baby bones, and he'd found the trick a useful way of figuring out just what his brother was crying about or what he needed. But…

Papyrus was no longer a bundle of baby bones he could just scoop up into his arms. He was a full-grown skeleton—one with his own secrets and boundaries.

And with a bit of searching, Sans could delve right past those boundaries and theoretically find out whatever he desired—whatever secrets Papyrus would try to hide.

He lowered his head, covering his eyesockets. _This isn't right,_ he thought, holding back a shudder. If it had been _him_ , he knew he wouldn't want someone prodding at his soul, trying to figure out his deepest, darkest secrets.

But…

He drew in a breath, focusing. _Papyrus is in trouble,_ he reasoned. _If I don't do this… things could keep getting worse. If I don't do this, Papyrus could get hurt._

Not that he wouldn't get hurt if he discovered his brother was intruding on his soul.

 _This is to_ help _him, though. I don't want to force him to tell me directly, and if I'm careful, he won't even know._

That sure sounded ethical.

 _Well, I was a scientist. I wasn't exactly_ trained _to always follow the laws of ethics._

Papyrus whimpered, yanking him out of his thoughts, and he snapped his head toward his brother. But Papyrus was still asleep, fully unaware of his brother's magical grip on him.

 _Don't hate me for this, Paps,_ he thought desperately, as though Papyrus could hear him. _I'm so sorry._

With that, he closed his eyes, and focused.

 _Exhaustion. He was so tired. His bones ached. He just wanted to sleep._ That was obvious enough. He _was_ asleep, so of course that would be the primary thing he was feeling right now.

...No, there had to be more to it than that. Papyrus was rarely tired—he could go for days without sleep, and some days it took a considerable amount of effort for Sans to convince his brother to go to bed before he passed out. But Papyrus had been lethargic for the past few days, and that wasn't like him.

Sans drew his left hand out of his pocket, stretching it out toward his brother to intensify his focus. _What's making you so tired, bro?_

_Exhaustion. He was so tired. If he slept, maybe he could sleep away the pain and fear and problems and everything would be better when he woke up—_

Sans pulled back his arm, gasping, and Papyrus's soul disappeared from view.

 _No, bro,_ no, _don't think like that. Rest up if you need to, but…_ His legs shook, and he sat down, staring at the patterns in the carpet.

 _Don't turn into_ me _._

Taking a few deep breaths and shutting his eyes, Sans stretched out his hand again, turning Papyrus's soul blue once more.

_Fear. He was scared. The… Great Papyrus should not be afraid, but he was. He was afraid of the forest. He was afraid of being alone. He was afraid of… of… no, no he wasn't. He wasn't afraid. Not of him. But he was, but he wasn't, he shouldn't be, that was his fault anyway—_

One of Sans's eyes slid open, glowing pupil focused on Papyrus's face. He'd never known his brother could be so conflicted. _Who are you afraid of, Paps?_

 _Fear. He was scared of seeing his friend again, but he shouldn't be. This was his_ friend. _His friend could be good. Even if his friend had—no, no, that was_ his _fault. This was all his own fault, he couldn't blame his friend for what happened. This was his own fault, he couldn't blame his friend, it was his_ own _fault, not anyone else's, and especially not_ his _—he was his_ friend...

Sans's soul ached as he felt around the internal conflict. He wouldn't get any farther than that—if Papyrus couldn't pierce his own mental barriers, there was no way Sans could. But he wished on every crystal in the cavern ceiling that he could. Papyrus was beating himself up over what had happened, but Sans couldn't help him if he couldn't figure out what had happened in the first place.

 _This isn't your fault. Whatever happened, it isn't_ you. _And whoever did this to you, he's not your friend, bro, he's not… he..._

 _He_ —that was a clue. Papyrus's attacker had been male, and it had been someone Papyrus considered a friend. But… who could that be? Undyne was the only person Papyrus talked to regularly, other than him. Who was this other person, and why had Papyrus never brought him up before? What was he hiding from…?

Sans's bones rattled, and he forced himself to still, focusing on Papyrus one more time, trying to get a feel on that last emotion.

 _Discomfort. His bones hurt. His body felt sore._ Well, yeah, he hadn't fully healed up. That alone was a huge indicator that something strange was amiss—his magic was regenerating at an absurdly slow rate, and the food he was consuming wasn't recovering as much HP and magic that it should.

But _why_?

_Discomfort. He ached, and he didn't feel safe, not even in his own house, and no matter how much he cleaned his bones, he felt dirty—_

He released his grip without thinking, suddenly making a choked noise and clutching his left hand at his chest. His ribcage was heaving, and his body was shaking, and his sockets had long since gone dim.

That couldn't be right.

That couldn't possibly mean what he thought it did.

Forcing himself to still, he brought the lights of his eyes into focus, staring at Papyrus again. Now his brother was curled up more tightly on the bed, shivering under the covers—a nightmare. Maybe that had thrown the whole reading off—maybe he was just picking up the wrong thing because of whatever Papyrus was feeling in his nightmare.

But that still didn't explain why he would feel—

No, no, that couldn't be it, it had to be something else, he couldn't be…!

Hesitantly Sans reached his hand out, grabbing his brother's soul.

 _Discomfort. He didn't feel right. Nothing felt right. He was in pain, and he constantly felt like… like…_ he _was grabbing him, his wrists, his ankles, his arms his legs his jaw his spine his ribs his pelvis—_

Sans's hands went to cover his mouth as both his mind and his eyesockets went blank. He felt sick. He lacked a stomach to bring anything up, but he felt _sick_ , and awful, and horrible, and how could that have happened to Papyrus, who would have done that to him, _how had he let that happen—_?!

But it had been there all along, hadn't it? It was obvious what had happened from the beginning, when he'd first tried to grab Papyrus's soul back in the clearing. _Shame, fear, violation—_ it had been obvious, but he hadn't wanted to see it. He hadn't wanted to believe that that's what had happened. He couldn't—that couldn't happen to _his_ brother.

That couldn't happen to _Papyrus_.

When he'd first felt it, his mind had vomited up some excuse—that perhaps Papyrus was ashamed of being defeated in battle. It had happened before—he'd come home upset in times past after losing a fight with Undyne. But that hadn't explained…

_No, no, no…_

Sans clutched at his head as he remembered the state he'd found his brother in—multiple injuries, his armor damaged, _his magic reserves empty_ … That had all been because someone—someone Papyrus had thought was his friend—had… had…

Slowly he became aware of another noise over the sound of his own panting: a deep, magical _hum_ that resonated within his own ribcage, his soul pounding, his left eye suddenly flaring. The feeling bubbled up within him, overwhelming him with _rage_ and barely-contained offensive magic, his powers acting of their own accord.

He wanted to kill them.

He wanted to kill the _thing_ that had done this to his brother.

They couldn't _do_ that to him—not to his brother, his little brother who wouldn't harm a _thing_. Not to the happy, energetic skeleton that wanted nothing more than to be _loved_. But they had—they'd given him the friendship he needed and then taken it and twisted it into—

_He wanted to kill them._

The hum within his chest suddenly rose into a whine, and a stab of panic shot through his rage as he realized what his magic was doing.

_No no no not here—_

Frantically he scrambled to his feet, but there wouldn't be time to run out before it set off. With a frustrated growl he stepped forward, through a shortcut out of his brother's room and outside the house, and staggered through the snow. His magic was already leaving him, shining dots of white glimmering above his head and coalescing into something massive.

The river was just beyond the line of trees, and it was only a few seconds before he found himself staring into its icy waters.

His reflection stared back at him, his permanent grin twisted into something ugly, full of rage and revulsion, and his left eye was swimming with the harsh glow of Justice overwhelming the faint glimmer of Patience.

The enormous predatory skull looming over him, raw magic rapidly building behind its jaw, was evidence enough of that.

He wasn't facing the target he wanted— _oh_ he wished he was—but it was one deserving enough. Waving his left arm, he angled the skull down until he could stare into the reflection of its glowing eyes, and let it loose.

The skull's jaw split open, and a beam of raw magic fired into the water, causing it to churn and boil and steam, distorting the reflections into a bubbling, unrecognizable mess of blue and yellow and gray. Sans kept up the attack, funneling all of his rage and horror into it, doing everything he could to purge himself of the awful feelings, and the gaster blaster obeyed, keeping up its constant stream of magical vomit.

He continued the blast until his arm shook and his breathing became shallow, and finally his arm dropped, the skull above him suddenly dipping in the air, disappearing as it lowered.

His anger was gone, leaving him with nothing but the deep, sick feeling of heartache.

"...Papyrus…"

It was with a sudden stab of horror that he realized he'd left his brother alone in the house, and in an instant he was back, stumbling on the rug of his brother's room.

Finding his balance, he whipped his head to face his brother's bed, and felt a wave of relief at seeing Papyrus still huddled under the covers.

The relief didn't last long when he remembered just why he'd left in the first place—why his magic had gone berserk.

Sans clutched at his ribcage again, his soul throbbing in pain.

"Papyrus…" he whispered, reaching out and brushing his hand over his brother's head. Papyrus winced back, and he pulled the hand away, shaking. He turned to the other side of the room, unable to stand looking at his brother when he couldn't help him—when he'd _failed_ to help him.

He paused, blinking at the window.

It was the night cycle in the Underground, so it was dimmer outside and more difficult to see. But he thought he saw...

Before he knew it, he was climbing up onto Papyrus's computer desk, careful to not knock anything over, and staring out the window.

No, there was nothing there. Of course. They were on the second floor—that was a stupid assumption.

But still, it didn't feel right. He thought he'd seen something, but...

Eyes narrowing, he summoned a few blue bones just outside the house, lowering them to cast their glow on the ground below. No footprints. Not that it meant he could rule flying monsters out of the question… But there were none here. Not normally, anyway.

He was just being paranoid. He hadn't had nearly enough sleep.

Heaving a deep sigh, Sans lowered himself back down to the floor, glancing over at his the bed. And he felt it again—he felt the same stab of sickness and pain in his soul, knowing what had happened to his brother.

He approached Papyrus anyway, shakily walking over to his bed before dropping down next to it, leaning his head against the mattress.

"I'll never let that happen to you again, bro," he whispered, fighting the urge to reach up and hold his brother's hand. "I'll never let anyone hurt you."

 _You already did,_ a dark voice said, and he was too tired to shut the thoughts out. _You failed to protect him this time, just like you have all those other times._

Not that he could remember any of those times—only that they'd apparently happened. With every new timeline—or as far as he could judge to be a new timeline—he told himself that he wouldn't let anything bad happen to Papyrus. That Papyrus would stay safe, and stay happy.

_That sure worked out well._

The lights in his eyes winked out.

 _Why are you even_ trying _anymore?_

He shut his eyes. _Because Papyrus deserves it. He deserves everything I have._

_Even if what you have has never once helped him?_

_Maybe it will_ this _time._

_You don't know that._

_No. I don't._

Sans waited, but no other dark thoughts arose. Releasing a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding, he let the tension leave his body, resting against the side of the racecar bed.

The golden lights overhead teased at the corners of his vision as he finally drifted off.

 

* * *

 

_No, no, no…_

It was following him. No matter where he ran, he could feel it following him, getting closer. He'd been running for so long, but it felt like he hadn't gotten anywhere. It was too dark around to tell—he was in the forest, at least, but all the trees looked the same…

He took one step to the left, and heard it move in that direction. He turned around and ran that way, but heard it move there, too…

"S-stay back!" he cried, surrounding himself with bones. "Go away!"

He would be safe this way—it couldn't reach him, he was safe, he would be okay—

Something stroked lightly over his skull, and he pulled away from the touch. No, no, that didn't make sense, how did it get past—

It was in his ribcage underneath his battle body, toying with his ribs and sternum and spine and he cried out, grabbing all around him to find it and pull it out, but he couldn't see it—he could only feel what it was doing to him, making him squirm and writhe.

_Don't you like this?_

_NO!_

He clawed at his chest—his battle body had vanished—pulling and scratching at his own ribs, and it _hurt_ , but he had to make it stop, please, he had to make it stop, he had to—

"Stop, _stop_!"

Something grabbed his wrists, pulling them away, and he squawked and struggled, kicking his legs, shaking his head, fighting with everything he had—

" _PAPYRUS_!"

He stopped, just for a moment, and realized he wasn't in the forest anymore. In fact, he was in his room, blinking up at two dimly-glowing lights—no, _pupils_ —above him.

"S… Sans?"

Sans heaved a sigh, letting go of his wrists and sliding off the bed. Papyrus let his hands rest against his own chest for a moment, only to yelp—his ribs _did_ hurt. They'd been bruised anyway, some of them, but the pain in them felt more fresh, somehow.

"You were… in your sleep…" Sans said, glancing away and gesturing at Papyrus's chest.

_Oh._

Shivering, he pulled his arms behind his back, afraid he might attempt it again. He swore he could still barely feel it—something… no, _vines_ squirming inside his ribcage, ghosting over each individual rib from within. Part of him still wanted to claw at his own bones, or at least scrub them, if only so the feeling would _go away_ …

"Please don't… don't hurt yourself, bro."

Papyrus looked up at Sans again, suddenly noticing just how… _tired_ his brother looked. Not the usual kind of tired, like he hadn't been napping enough—though that was there too—but more like one-too-many things was wearing on his mind.

"I-I'll be all right, brother," Papyrus replied, forcing a half-smile. It wasn't quite the truth, but it wasn't a lie either; he _hoped_ he'd be all right, eventually, but he didn't know when that would be.

Sans gave an unconvincing laugh. "Yeah, I'm sure you will, bro." He stepped back, allowing Papyrus to sit up and start to get out of bed. "What were you, uh, dreaming about?"

With one leg swung over the side of the bed, Papyrus paused, and shuddered. "J-just a nightmare."

"I gathered that." Sans rocked on his heels as Papyrus shakily stood, then looked him in the eye. "But what was it _about_?"

...What was he getting at? "Something… attacked me, ch-chased me," he admitted, staring down at his feet, which dug into the rug beneath him.

"Do you remember what—"

" _No_ ," he blurted out, holding his head. "I-I couldn't see it." That wasn't a lie, at least.

"Sorry." Sans reached out to rub his back, but Papyrus pulled away—the gesture felt too similar to something else. "You don't have to tell me about it if you don't want to."

Papyrus _did_ look him in the eye that time. "Then why do you keep _asking_?" he said, voice hitching.

Sans stepped back in surprise before looking away guiltily. After a moment he shrugged, heaving a sigh. At first Papyrus thought he was going to argue, but instead he changed the topic. "Undyne told me you're to stay home, but… she told _me_ to go to work."

He started. Even though he didn't want Sans prying, he didn't want…! "A-are you sure?"

"No, actually." He shoved his hands into his pockets and looked toward the door. "She told me she'd take care of something-or-other, but never told me what. So… tell you what. I'll get you some breakfast, then I'll call her and see what's up."

Papyrus nodded. "A-all right."

"Right. See you downstairs." With that, Sans left the room and shut the door, giving Papyrus some privacy so he could change.

While he wished he could wear his battle body again, there wouldn't be much of a point to it even if he could, since he'd just be here at home. Instead he grabbed a t-shirt—one too short to cover his spine—and a clean pair of sweatpants.

As he changed, he looked down at his ribcage. No, there was nothing inside it, but that did nothing to change the _feeling_. Scratching and clawing at it hadn't helped, of course, but maybe if he washed again…? Yes, perhaps he could try that later today. It hadn't worked the last time, but maybe it would this time. He hoped it would.

He came downstairs and was immediately greeted with the scent of black coffee and reheated spaghetti. The latter was all he'd been eating as of late, and normally he wouldn't care, but… well, honestly, he still didn't. He couldn't bring up an appetite, so all food seemed the same to him: either bland, or disgusting.

"Here you go," Sans said, setting a plate of spaghetti on the table as Papyrus approached. "Each as much as you can, okay?"

Papyrus wasn't sure how much that would be, but he sat down anyway, staring at the tangle of noodles and pulverized vegetables on the plate and trying to work up the will to eat.

Sans sat across from him, sipping a mug of black coffee. When Papyrus looked up at him, he noticed that his brother appeared oddly listless. When normally he would be calmly chatting or working on today's crossword, he was instead staring blankly at the center of the table. He hadn't even grabbed the newspaper.

What was going on? Had Undyne said something to him last night…?

Unable to work up an appetite right at that moment, Papyrus scooted away from the table and walked toward the door.

Sans snapped out of it, looking up in alarm. "Where are you going?"

"To grab the newspaper," he answered, opening the door—

—and staggering back in surprise at the sight of two enormous, fully-armored Royal Guards, their backs to him.

Hearing the door open, they turned their heads. Though they wore helmets, their species was obvious at a glance: two pointed ears and several whiskers poked out of one's helmet while a long tail swished at the legs, while two jointed green antennae stuck up out of the other's helmet.

"...Good morning," the cat said, her soft but serious voice resonating within her helmet.

"H-hello." The mantis, also female, had a more grating but less confident voice.

"Uh, heya," Sans said.

"G-good morning." Papyrus rubbed his hand over his mouth when he realized it had been hanging open. "Er—c-can we help you?"

"That's what _we're_ doing!" the bug replied cheerfully, only to flinch when the cat cleared her throat.

"You're the sentry Papyrus, are you not?" The cat turned to face him fully, and the mantis followed suit. When Papyrus nodded, she went on. "We were informed of your situation. Undyne stationed us here to protect you from further attacks."

Shock bolted through him.

_Further—?!_

A loud coughing and splattering noise yanked his attention back to Sans, who was frantically wiping his mouth on his sleeve. "Sorry," he croaked, then cleared his throat. "You just caught me off- _guard_."

The mantis snickered, and the cat remained silent.

"Could you, uh, shut the door there? Didn't mean to interrupt your duties."

"Of course," the cat replied, reaching in and pulling the door shut.

Papyrus twitched, slowly turning to face his brother as a sick feeling washed over him. "F…fur…ther… attacks?" he whispered.

Sans had a number of different kinds of grins, and the too-wide one he currently wore told Papyrus a story he did not like. "Uh, yeah, hang on one sec?" He stood up, walking toward the stairs as he fished his cell phone out of his pocket and doubtlessly called Undyne. She seemed to pick up quickly, and Sans's eyes narrowed as he crossed the upper hall. "Any word?" he repeated. "Yeah, I got two for you, in fact—"

Papyrus automatically tuned out the rest, even after Sans slammed his bedroom door shut. He stood still for a moment or two before shakily walking toward the couch and dropping onto it.

He'd told her.

He hadn't wanted anyone knowing, and not only had Sans told someone anyway—he'd told _Undyne_! That explained why he had looked so guilty this morning, and…

Papyrus curled up, burying his face in his knees and shaking.

His shivers weren't entirely out of sadness.

It was several long moments before Sans stepped out of his room, but Papyrus did not look up. He could hear the faint padding of Sans's slippers against the carpet, followed by shifting noises as Sans took a seat on the edge of the second floor.

The silence hung over them heavily, thicker than the fog between Snowdin and Waterfall.

It was Sans that broke the silence, but whatever he began to say didn't matter—it was the spark that lit the fuse.

"You _told_ her!" Papyrus cried, snapping his head up to glare at his brother. Sans's smile was as faint as was physically possible for him, pain and guilt etched into his expression. "You said you wouldn't tell anyone, and you told _Undyne_?!"

"Bro," he said, voice hoarse, "it's not like that—"

Papyrus was already up, pacing the living room and staring at his feet as he walked. "Out of all people, you told _her_ , you told our boss, the one training me to get into the Royal Guard and—and now—" He scrubbed furiously at his tears, though they still dripped to the carpet, and fought to keep control of his speech. Sans kept trying to interject, but he wouldn't have it. "Now she thinks that I— _I—_ need guards watching me! A future Royal Guard, being kept under watch by other guards—"

"Would you let me _talk_ for a minute?!" Sans cried, voice cracking from strain. "If I didn't tell her, she was going to accuse _me_ of hurting you."

Papyrus's head snapped up to look at him, shocked. "A… a-accuse _you_ …?" For a moment the anger abated, but it wasn't done just yet. It was still flowing through him, burning in his soul, seeking a target to release itself on. Before his sympathy could kick in, the anger grabbed hold of him again, making his face heated and red. "You—you could have at least been straight with me! Why didn't you _tell_ me you'd had to tell her that?!"

"You're not one to accuse someone of not being straight with you, Paps," Sans shot back, eyesockets narrow. "Not when you won't even tell me what the f—"

Letting out a snarl, Papyrus grasped his head in his hands and stormed into the kitchen, leaning against the counter and digging his digits into his skull. It was too much, everything was too much—his shoulders shook and his jaw clenched tight as he was overcome with angry sobs.

There was a series of swift _thud-thud-thuds_ as Sans bolted down the stairs, followed by his frantic voice murmuring soft words that Papyrus couldn't hear over his crying. The words became clearer as he neared the kitchen, growing louder as he came closer. "...Paps please I'm sorry I didn't mean to snap at you, I didn't mean to—please buddy I didn't want to tell Undyne anything but going to jail wouldn't help me and it wouldn't help you, I want to help you but I don't know how—"

He was right behind him, and Papyrus swung his arm back, too angry to even tell him to go away. It shut him up, at least, and Sans silently retreated.

"I-I… I'm going to work."

He expected the door to slam. It shut softly.

Anger draining, Papyrus sunk down, his face flat against the counter and his fingers still digging into his skull.

_What had he done?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's [an illustration](http://asleepyskeleton.tumblr.com/post/148673417973/rage-and-revulsion-from-chapter-eleven-of-my) of one of the scenes from this chapter.


	12. Stop to Smell the Flowers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gifts given, vines haunting, truths unspoken.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh goodness, where is the summer going? Hard to believe I started this around Christmas...
> 
> Well, I'm sorry this chapter is so late. I hate to keep you guys waiting. I want to get this story written as much as you guys want to read it, but real life can get in the way sometimes. Nonetheless, I hope you enjoy it. The next chapter is already mostly finished, so here's hoping the wait on the next one won't be quite so long.
> 
> Thanks again to my wonderful beta, who helped me sort through a few issues in this chapter.

The packed snow crunched softly beneath his slippers, but he didn’t care. He’d heard one of the guards say something to him, but hadn’t registered it. Even the gusts of wind that tugged at his unzipped hoodie didn’t bother him. His mind was focused intently on other things.

_Step, step, step. Slouch, hands in pockets, usual smile, eyes bright. Grin at passersby._

_Act like your brother doesn’t hate you._

He probably didn’t—or he hoped he didn’t, oh _Asgore_ he hoped he didn’t—but he certainly had every reason to. And he wouldn’t blame him—Sans would hate himself too if he were in Papyrus’s boots.

Heck, he hated himself anyway.

As he passed Grillby’s, the lights in his eyes briefly flicked down to the ground; as good as he was at hiding his emotions, Sans knew that Grillby could read him like a book, and he’d immediately see that something was wrong if he happened to glance outside. There wasn’t much of a reason for Sans to glance at the ground, but he pretended he was studying some very interesting footprints in the snow.

Much to his surprise, he _did_ see some very interesting footprints.

They were very large, and sank through the already-packed-down snow. They were too wide to be rabbit’s feet, not to mention they had three toes… and pads.

Sans’s head snapped upward, and he hurried his pace. What had that guard said when he’d left? Something about saying hello to—?

He froze.

Toward the edge of town was the snowdrake that Undyne had been talking to the other day… talking to an enormous monster with a mane of gold and robes of purple.

Seconds after the snowdrake finished talking, they gave a startled squawk to see Sans suddenly standing barely a foot away. Hearing the noise, the taller monster turned, his eyes wide for a moment before his face softened into a gentle smile.

“Howdy, Sans.”

“Heya, King,” Sans replied, rocking back on his heels.

The snowdrake gave him a shocked, offended look, but Asgore only nodded. “It is good to see you,” he said, “although I wish it were under happier circumstances.”

Sans remained still even as worry surged through him at the words. But then he calmed—and grew somber—when he realized why the king was probably visiting Snowdin. “Yeah,” was all he could say.

Looking from Sans to Asgore, the snowdrake smoothed out their feathers and turned to the king, bowing low. “Thank you for visiting, King Asgore,” they said.

“It was nice talking with you.”

The snowdrake nodded and returned to their house.

Asgore turned back to Sans. “I am heading into the forest to visit the Royal Guards and sentries there. You are welcome to accompany me,” he said.

A genuine smile briefly crossed Sans’s face. “I’d be honored, your _honor_.”

“I believe that is stretching it.” Asgore gave a half-smile. “You are the judge, not me.”

“Ah, guess I _royally_ screwed up that one.”

Asgore chuckled, and began his walk toward the bridge, Sans following him easily. While the king tended to walk slowly anyway—his armor was heavy and he wasn’t light to begin with—Sans picked up on the slight reluctance to his step and the faintness of his smile.

It wasn’t hard to figure out why.

“I take it this wasn’t your first stop,” Sans said, keeping his gaze straight ahead. Out of the corner of his eye socket, he saw Asgore’s head lower.

“It was today… but yes, I did pay another visit yesterday.”

There was the slightest of catches in his voice, but Sans knew not to push him. He’d talk if he wanted to, and Sans would listen.

They were quiet as they crossed the bridge. Occasionally Asgore’s claws would scratch into the rocky surface, scraping away the old paint that Papyrus had applied months ago. Sans had to make an effort not to flinch at the thought of his brother.

Finally, Asgore drew in a shaky breath. “Mr. Drake is not well.”

Sans said nothing, though his soul sank for his fellow comedian.

“He is staying at my house for the time being. I offered for him to come along, but…” His voice caught again, and he swallowed.

“I bet it means everything to him, you reaching out like that,” Sans offered, and Asgore rubbed at his eyes. “It… it helps to have someone who can understand. Who knows how to help.”

The lights in Sans’s eyes flickered as he stared down at the chipped paint on the ledge.

He heard Asgore give a deep gulp. “Y-you are right, Sans,” he whispered, stepping off of the bridge and standing there for a moment. “You are right.”

Greater Dog’s sentry station was close by, and Sans didn’t blame Asgore for wanting to stop to pull himself together first. He felt the same.

As they stood there, breathing in the crisp air (or as one of them did, anyway), Asgore gave a hum and fished through his pocket, pulling out a small bag. “I have been giving these to all the guards and sentries,” he said, holding it out to Sans. “This one is for you.”

“Oh, sweet.” Sans took the bag from the king’s massive paw, and turned it over in his hands. It was small and cream-colored, bearing the delta rune on one side and tied at the top with a yellow ribbon. Curious, he untied the ribbon, and the contents of the bag immediately gave off a distinct perfume—a strong, but not unpleasant scent. From what Sans knew of the seasons on the surface, it made him think of spring.

...And something else, something nagging at the back of his mind that he couldn’t quite place.

It bothered him.

 

* * *

 

“It’s loose leaf tea, made from some flowers in the king’s garden,” the guard replied, handing the bag out to him.

Papyrus noticed the odd way the mantis’s gloved hands moved, as though the gloves were ill-suited for the shape of her claws, but he took the bag without further question.

At some point he had pulled away from the counter and cleaned up, putting away the untouched spaghetti, setting Sans’s mug in the microwave, and washing off the table where the coffee had spilled. After that he’d simply sat on the couch, staring at nothing, and trying not to think of how he’d exploded at his brother. It still hurt, but… Sans hadn’t deserved that.

Sans wouldn’t have had to tell Undyne if she hadn’t had to come to Snowdin, if the snowdrake hadn’t been killed, if he hadn’t missed work, if he hadn’t been feeling so terrible, if he hadn’t… hadn’t been so weak and _stupid_ —

A knock at the door had snapped him out of it, and he’d answered the door to find one of the guards awkwardly handing him the present. It was from Asgore himself—a fact interesting enough to pierce through the haze Papyrus had found himself in, albeit briefly.

“Thank you,” he said, staring at the emblem that had been stamped onto the material. He ran his thumb over it, feeling it, as though to make sure it was actually there. “This is really from the king…? He was really here?”

“He was,” the cat affirmed. “But he didn’t want to disturb you, so he entrusted it to us to give it to you.”

“He gave both of us one, too,” the mantis said, holding up one of her own.

“Wowwie… Th-that’s very kind of him.” And it was—Papyrus wasn’t an expert on tea, but he did know that the king had certain kinds of plants in his garden that grew nowhere else in the Underground, so it was a special treat to have any sort of tea made by him.

“Hope you like it! And we, uh, hope you feel better,” the mantis said, flicking one of her antennae.

The cat hummed an affirmative, and gently shut the door.

Papyrus stared down at the bag, amazed at the king’s generosity. It would have been nice to see King Asgore in person, but at the same time, he was glad that his first meeting with the king hadn’t been now, when he was in this state. He hadn’t been his best this morning anyway, and now he was even worse, what with how he’d…

Sighing, Papyrus sat down on the couch again, pulling out his phone. He really ought to text Sans an apology, or call him—he shouldn’t have yelled like that. It wouldn’t have been the first time he’d fought with his brother, but he’d never flown off the handle like that. What was _wrong_ with him? It was like—like all of the ugly feelings within him had just morphed into anger, and it wouldn’t stop, and—

The jingle of _Cooking with a Killer Robot_ made him jump, and it took him a moment to realize his phone was ringing. Fumbling with it, he flipped it open and held it up to his head. “H-hello? Th-this is Papyrus.”

“Feelin’ any better, sentry?”

Undyne. Papyrus almost smiled until he remembered—she knew about what had happened to him in the forest… or as much as Sans did, anyway. Swallowing, he forced a laugh. “I-it hasn’t been even a day yet, Undyne.”

“Bah! You’ll get there.” She chuckled over the phone, then went quiet for a moment.

In that moment, Papyrus’s mind raced. Was she going to tell him that she was going to stop training him? That he’d failed? That she’d changed her mind and the snowdrake’s death really was his—?

“Eh, just callin’ to say… sorry about the guards,” she said, sounding embarrassed. “Can’t believe I’m saying this, but don’t be mad at your brother, all right?”

“It’s a little late for that.” Papyrus slumped in his seat, fiddling with the packet of tea.

“Ah, sh—crap.” Undyne huffed out a sigh. “Look, that was my fault, okay? I told him to tell me what had happened to you.”

Papyrus pinched the bag, roughly rubbing the soft material between two phalanges. He felt a tightness in his throat—he hadn’t wanted this to spread, he hadn’t wanted _anyone_ to know… “D-did… did you have to tell the guards…?”

“Well, yeah? You think I’m gonna sit around and let some punk have a chance at messing around with you?”

He winced; Flowey had only… done that because he’d given him permission. Flowey wouldn’t do anything to him if he didn’t tell him that it was all right first. And now… “Th-they… do they think I’m weak?”

Suddenly he yanked the phone away from his face as a loud _PFFFFFFF_ sounded over the other line.

“ _YOU_?! Weak?!” Undyne blurted out. “Fuhuhuhu! Are you _kidding_ me?”

Papyrus sat up straighter, partly surprised at Undyne’s outburst and partially offended at her flippant response.

“Hey, listen—how tough do you think King Asgore is?”

Papyrus blinked. “Um. S-strong? Super-strong? H-he’s the king of all monsters! He’s…” Well, he was super-nice and a bit of a softie. Everyone knew that. But when it came to battle, he was the one who led the monsters against the humans. Of _course_ he was tough.

“What if I told you I whupped his furry butt in a sparring match?”

“Y-you _what_?”

“You bet I did! How’d you think I became Captain of the Royal Guard?”

Rubbing his forehead, Papyrus tried to process this. “W-wowwie…”

“So d’you think _he’s_ weak?”

He bolted upright, eyesockets narrowing in offense. “O-of course not!”

The jovial tone to Undyne’s voice dropped, changing to a more serious one. “So what makes you think getting your bony butt handed to you once makes _you_ weak?”

It took Papyrus a moment to think through what Undyne said. Even when it sank in, he slumped in his seat again, still not believing it. “But—”

“You’re one of the toughest monsters I know, Papyrus, and I’m not kidding! Don’t think you’re not great just ‘cuz some punk got the better of you once.”

Papyrus was very glad he was only talking to her over the phone and not in person, because she couldn’t see the tears he was frantically trying to dab away with the collar of his shirt. “Th… thank you, Undyne,” he managed to squeak out.

He could hear the smile in her voice. “No problem, man. Though, uh... “ She paused, sounding like she was debating on something, and Papyrus froze for a moment. “Eh, nevermind. Get better, and as soon as you do, I’ll give you an extra-special cooking lesson, all right?”

Papyrus relaxed. “R-right.”

“Great! See ya later, punk.”

_Click._

Shutting his phone, Papyrus stared down at it for a moment, turning it over and spinning it around in his hand idly before putting it in his pocket. It made him feel a little better that Undyne didn’t hold it against him—that she didn’t look down on him for what had happened in the forest. Did that mean the guards didn’t as well…? Hopefully.

He sighed, rubbing his forehead again. He was starting to get a headache—maybe because he hadn’t eaten or drank anything yet today. He still didn’t have an appetite, but perhaps some water… or tea?

Holding up the small bag he’d been given, he looked it over again. Maybe some tea would help him get rid of this headache, help him calm down. Maybe even bring his appetite back. At the very least, making the tea would be something to do— _anything_ was better than just sitting on this couch all day. As bad as he felt, he couldn’t stand to just sit around, doing nothing.

That decided, he rose from his seat, taking a moment to steady himself against the wave of dizziness that hit him. Yes, he should _definitely_ eat soon, appetite or not.

Once he felt a little more steady on his feet, he started to walk to the kitchen, staring down at the bag and pulling at the ribbon. He wondered what sort of flowers the king had made this from—

The ribbon slipped off, and the scent hit him.

He was in the forest.

 

* * *

 

“Oh, I _am_ sorry about that, Greater Dog.”

The dog snorted, rubbing at his nose as he continued to gnaw on the bone he’d been given.

“I think you’re forgiven, King,” Sans said, winking. “He looks pretty _dog_ gone happy to me.”

Greater Dog had been as enthusiastic as to be expected, and had come bounding toward them the moment they were in sight. He’d pounced on King Asgore, only to fall into a sneezing fit as his sensitive nose picked up the smell of the tea packets. Of course, Asgore had a different gift prepared for him.

“I suppose so,” the king said, kneeling down slightly so his head was level with the dog’s. “You are still a good guard, regardless of what happened. Everyone did everything within their power to… to save…” He faltered.

Greater Dog whimpered, somehow managing to lick Asgore’s face around the bone in his mouth.

Asgore forced a chuckle, petting Greater Dog’s head and stepping back. “You will still look out for the children that come into the forest here, will you not?”

The dog yipped in affirmation, dropping the bone out of his mouth and stooping down to pick it up again.

“Good. It was good to see you, Greater Dog.”

With a snort, the dog hopped out of his armor, carrying his bone into his station and lying down, facing outward as he continued to chew on the treat.

Sans rocked on his heels as he waited for Asgore to move on, and walked next to him as they continued to head west through the forest. “I guess a gift like that is nothin’ to _sneeze_ at, huh?” he said, giving a half-grin.

“No,” Asgore affirmed, giving Sans an amused glance. “I have known Greater Dog was allergic to most flowers since he first joined the guard. That is why I make sure to bring him something different.”

“Yeah. Guess that’s why he’s stationed here, too—not many flowers ‘round here.” Sans paused, then shrugged. “Well, except the thistles, but I guess he _nose_ to stay out of them.”

“Well, no, thistles are one of the few flowers he is fine with. Quite convenient for him.”

Sans nodded, then stopped in his tracks. “Wait—”

Before he could think on that any further, something gave a sharp tug on his hoodie, and he stumbled back in surprise. Quickly he pulled away and turned around to see…

Asgore burst into hearty laughter while Sans stared in bewilderment at the sight of what was quite possibly the smallest gyftrot he had ever seen. It shook its head—tiny antlers and all—and pawed at the snow, growling softly. Its fur was a silvery white rather than the usual creamy brown, and its four eyes were quite large. Its teeth, meanwhile, were just as sharp as a normal gyftrot’s, and it was quick to use them again, charging at Sans and trying to snap at his hoodie.

“Woah there,” Sans said, holding out his hand and turning the gyftrot’s soul blue, and it was startled to find itself running in place. The reading the blue magic brought up indicated full HP with a small cap, and positively overflowing magic reserves—an almost-certain indicator of a very young monster.  “No need to be _fawn_ ing over me like that.”

The fawn bleated, looking down at its legs in confusion as it continued to run in place.

“It has been many years since I have seen a gyftrot fawn,” Asgore said, stooping down in the snow to get a better look at it.

“Yeah, I’ve never seen one.” Sans blinked, looking it over again. “Ever.”

“It must have been attracted to the smell of the tea.” Asgore reached out, carefully scratching underneath the fawn’s jaw. It looked surprised at first, then leaned into his hand, making soft gurgling noises.

A guttural call came from the nearby wooded patch, and the two looked up to see an adult gyftrot—a male, judging by the smaller antlers—stepping out from the trees. The fawn bleated again, pulling away from Asgore and trying to run to the adult. Sans released it from his magic, allowing it to bolt away.

The gyftrot nuzzled his fawn as it approached, then glared up at Sans and Asgore. But the angry look soon melted into one of shocked recognition, and the gyftrot bowed elegantly. “King Asgore.”

The fawn looked from its parent to Asgore a few times before clumsily imitating the gesture.

“Howdy,” Asgore said, beaming at the monsters. “That is a friendly child you have there.”

Sans’s smile was a little less sincere. “Hey, uh, something going on? Can’t say I’ve ever seen you guys bring your _deer_ kids up here.” Or even wander very far past their caves, let alone past the _cliffside_.

“The teenagers that torment us have not been seen by our scouts in a few days,” the gyftrot said, rising. The fawn was still bowing, not paying attention. “The forest is safer for us for now.”

Immediately Asgore’s face fell, while Sans relaxed, nodding in understanding. “Ah, gotcha.” The teens had been avoiding the forest since the incident—it made sense the gyftrots would feel safer.

“The teenagers… _still_ torment them?” Asgore asked quietly, looking down at Sans.

“We will take our leave,” the gyftrot said, shaking his antlers. “Goodbye, King Asgore, sentry.” He turned around, heading back into the wooded area, and it took a moment for the fawn to realize that its parent was not there. It glanced over at where its parent had been standing, then bleated in alarm before galloping after him.

Once the gyftrots were out of sight, Asgore sighed, continuing to march onward. “I suppose I will talk with the teenagers again, then. This should not keep happening.”

“Yup,” Sans said, following. Asgore was absolutely not going to talk to the teenagers about it, or if he was, he was going to be so soft that they wouldn’t care, and the problem would continue. But, in spite of his lesser-known job, Sans was not going to judge the king for that.

He was more concerned about something that had struck him earlier—something that hadn’t added up—but he’d lost his train of thought when the fawn had attacked him. Had it been something about the tea? Greater Dog? He couldn’t remember.

Well...

He sighed in defeat.

It would probably hit him later.

 

* * *

 

The air was cold and the snow fell heavily, occasionally making it past the tree branches above him. But he hardly noticed, his mind preoccupied by the vines that were forcing him against the tree and tugging at his armor, and he was squirming, trying to get away, and _he_ was saying things to him, but he could barely hear him over the sound of his own screams.

But none of this made sense—he _knew_ he’d just been in his house, in the middle of the day, but he could feel the bark of the tree against his spine, hear _his_ voice, feel the vines tearing his armor to pieces, smell the perfume of golden flowers, and he could still feel that same overwhelming fear that had gripped him that night.

“G-get _away_!” he cried, struggling against the vines—it was easier than it should have been, but he could still _feel_ them pulling at him, restraining him. “Wh-what’s going on?!”

Everything was moving too fast, and his armor was already gone, and he could feel the vines moving over him, examining his spine, his ribcage—“Stop stop stop stop _stop_ —!” He pulled against the vines that bound his wrists and tried to grab the one that was fondling his ribcage, but it kept slipping away—but this _still didn’t make sense_ because he was in his house, he _knew_ he had to be in his house, how could this be happening, but he could still feel the vines—

“Sentry!”

He could hear the grating voice, but he was more concerned about getting rid of the vines, still trying to grab at the one feeling around his chest.

“S-sentry, uh, Pap— _Papyrus_!”

It was the guard—one of the Royal Guards, and she sounded frightened. But _he_ apparently didn’t care that she was there, since the vine still hadn’t stopped.

“Papyrus, please, you are not in danger,” the guard said, making an effort to calm down, herself.

Part of him knew she had to be right, but he still _felt_ like he was in danger—he could still feel the cold air, the vines, and a lot of other things, but none of this made sense…

“You are in your house. 04 and I are still keeping watch. N-no one is here that can hurt you. Please…”

Trying with everything he had to _focus_ , he looked up, seeing the room and seeing the guard kneeling a few feet away from him. The TV and stairs were to the left, the couch to the right—he had backed up against the wall, somehow. Yes, he was in his house, but he was still so _scared_ , and he could still _feel_ …

“Please take a deep breath a-and, uh, look at me. Keep taking deep breaths, okay?”

Papyrus tried to do as she said, drawing in deep breaths. While it did calm him a little, he couldn’t stop shaking, and he could still sense that _he_ was there—he could feel him, he could _smell_ him… he…

Something was scattered all over the floor where the guard was kneeling. What was it?

“Good. You’re doing okay,” the guard said.

“Get him something to drink, 03,” came a calm voice from the doorway.

03 looked over at the doorway, then back at Papyrus. “I’m going to head into the kitchen for a moment, all right?” With that, she slowly rose to her feet, turning and walking to the kitchen. Papyrus could vaguely hear the sound of glass clinking, water running, and the microwave humming, and he tried to focus on those sounds, trying to make the terrified, confused part of his mind realize that he was at home, not in the forest.

But why did he _feel_ this way? It didn’t make sense! He was obviously in his house and Flowey was clearly not around. Was…

Was he losing his mind…?

He was so lost in thought that it came as a shock when 03 was suddenly in front of him. He gave an involuntary yelp, jumping back and hitting his head against the wall. Why had that scared him? It was just the guard—he _knew_ she was there. Why was he...

“Oh, I didn’t mean to startle you… Here.” Kneeling in front of him, the guard held out one of the two things she was holding—a glass of cold water.

Shakily he took the glass and gulped it down, not particularly caring when some of it dribbled down his jaw. He made quick work of it, and when he set the empty glass aside, the guard handed him the other thing she’d been holding: a reheated mug of coffee. Sans’s coffee, to be exact.

Papyrus took it a little uncertainly; while the prospect of sharing food with his brother had never bothered him, he simply did not eat or drink all of the same things his brother did. But at the same time, he didn’t _hate_ coffee, and… and…

He breathed in the strong scent, tension leaving him as it chased away the scent of golden flowers.

The warmth from the mug seeped into his hands, and he held it close to his face, not drinking it, but continuing to take in the scent. The feeling of warmth and the scent and sight of the dark coffee more firmly reminded him that _he was not in the forest, he was at home._ It helped ground him.

...The coffee _grounded…_

Papyrus grumbled, letting the annoyance wash over him and basking in the feeling. It felt like such a _normal_ thing to be angry about.

“Are you feeling better?”

Starting out of his thoughts, he looked up at the guard again; he’d forgotten she was there. “Y… yes,” he replied, staring back down into the coffee and breathing in the scent again.

“Good. I’m glad,” she said, visibly relaxing. “I’ll clean up the tea for you, and you just relax, all right?”

He nodded, then blinked in confusion. _Tea_. That’s right—he’d been taking the bag of tea into the kitchen to make some when he’d smelled it, and then...

“If you want, I can give you my bag—”

“No!” Papyrus shouted, sitting upright and nearly splashing the coffee over himself. When the guard looked back at him in bewilderment, he cleared his throat and averted his gaze. “Y-you should keep it. It’s not your fault I spilled it. I was being careless.”

The guard nodded. “All right,” she said, and looked around for the closet to grab a vacuum.

Papyrus shakily rose to his feet, fighting against the wave of dizziness that took him, and downed the coffee, letting the bitter taste wash out the scent of flowers and the taste of sap as he walked by 03. He should be annoyed at her cleaning up for him. Part of him still was—she was doing a task for him that he was _perfectly_ capable of doing himself, but... at the same time, he very much wanted to avoid anything to do with that _smell_. It smelled too much like…

He shuddered.

After putting the glass and mug into the sink to be cleaned later, Papyrus filled a bucket with hot water and soap to haul up to his room. He found it was more difficult than last time; even though his leg and arm were healed, he was still feeling lightheaded from not eating and jittery from the coffee he’d downed. It took more effort than he’d anticipated to carry the bucket over to the stairs, and the guard looked up from her vacuuming, antennae drooping in concern.

“Sentry, would you like me to—”

“ _No._ ”

Cleaning for him was enough. He didn’t need her—or Sans—or _anyone_ —to go around carrying things for him, like he was a baby bones, like he was completely dependant, like he was incapable of taking care of himself—

He stumbled on the stairs, and some of the soapy water sloshed onto the carpet.

“P-Papyrus, it wouldn’t be a problem—”

“ _03_ ,” came the other guard’s harsh voice.

“I-I’m _fine_!” Papyrus cried. His chest felt tight as he dragged the bucket up the rest of the stairs, trying not to flinch as some of the water splashed over the rim of the bucket one, two, three more times. He’d _never_ had problems with this before. He _could_ do it. Washing was the easiest thing in the world.

_He could take care of himself._

The door was shut, his clothes quickly shed, and he was scrubbing at his bones before he could dwell too long on his embarrassment.

Yes, he had already bathed a few days ago. No, he didn’t have a trace of dirt on him. But that didn’t matter—he was going to get the feeling of vines off of him for _good_ , this time. He didn’t take time to be careful on his still-injured ribcage, roughly scrubbing over the bones and ignoring the sharp pain as the cloth ran over the cracks and bruises. He wasn’t going to stop—not until he was sure that the feeling would go away, that it would stop coming back for no reason, that his brain would stop dredging up things he never wanted to remember again—

He scrubbed over a cracked rib too hard, widening the crack a fraction, and pain bolted through him.

Yelping, he slammed both of his hands to the ground, the phalanges of his left digging into the rug while the phalanges of his right squeezed the washcloth until the soap foamed out of it. His chest heaved, and he couldn’t stop shaking as he waited for the pain to subside. While it did, slowly easing back into the same dull ache it had had before, the feeling of vines—of _filthiness_ —did not.

He held his legs up against his chest, arms wrapping around himself, and leaned his head into his knees as the sobs overtook him.

 

* * *

 

The lady was silent.

Sans stared absently at his own footprints in the snow, leading up to the door, seeing but not _really_ seeing them. Asgore was gone—he’d returned home after visiting Doggo—and part of Sans wondered if he should have spoken to the king instead. But no—there was no reason to weigh him down with anything else. He was already upset about the kid—there was no reason to get him worked up over something else on top of that.

So he’d mustered up the courage to tell the lady instead.

 _This was a bad idea_ , he thought, _just like all the others._

“...Are…”

He straightened, leaning against the door and listening closely.

“...Are you _certain_? Are you absolutely _sure_ that is what happened to him?” Her voice was serious, though he could still hear the shocked horror in her tones.

“I wish I had doubts about this, honestly,” he replied. “But I don’t.”

Silence again. He tugged at the zipper on his hoodie.

“This is…” She hunted for the word. “‘Terrible’ seems too soft a word. _Unforgivable_.”

“You don’t have to tell me that one, lady,” Sans muttered.

“But you do not know who…?”

“No offense to you, but if I _did_ know what low-life pulled that, I’d be out tracking him _down_ , not talking to you.” It came out harsher than he intended, but he couldn’t help it.

“...I understand.” There was no sound of offense in her voice, which was a relief. “So the proper course of action would be to find the attacker.”

He ground his teeth. “Working on it. What I need to know is what to do for _him_ in the meantime. Especially since he…” He trailed off, too ashamed to say the rest.

“He what?”

“I… I don’t think he even _understands_ what happened to him.” Sans tugged on his zipper again. “He doesn’t… _know_ that stuff yet.”

He could barely hear the gasp behind the door. “Y-you did not tell me he was so young—!”

“Yeah, uh, that’s the thing… He’s not.”

For a few moments the woman was silent again. “...His parents are terribly neglectful, then. They should—”

“Uh.” Sans shut his eyesockets. “No parents in the picture, there.”

“Then his caretakers are quite neglectful. There is no excuse for such a thing.”

“Even if he’s never asked?” Sans said, already knowing the answer.

“That does not matter. It is too important a thing to neglect teaching a child about, once he is of appropriate age.”

Sans scraped the heel of his slipper against a sheet of ice. “But how’s that supposed to be handled _now_?”

Heaving a sigh, the lady presumably leaned against the door. “That… will be difficult. But… perhaps once he is doing better, the topic should be brought up.” She hesitated a moment “How _is_ he doing?”

Relieved for the change of subject, Sans readily moved on. “Bad. He keeps getting worse, and… it’s bad. He won’t even talk to me about it—”

“I cannot blame him. Would you wish to recount something that awful if it happened to you?”

She had a point, but… “That doesn’t make things much easier for me, though.”

“This is not about you.” Her voice was firm. “This is about _him_ , and if he is to recover, he must tell you on his own time and his own terms, if he ever does at all.”

Sans winced. “Yeah… I… yeah. You’re right.”

After a moment, she spoke up again, her voice much softer. “Was he… injured, at all? Has that been taken care of?”

Well, that was something more tangible, at least. “Injured, yeah. Treated, no. Not fully, anyway. He doesn’t wanna eat much, and when he does, it only recovers…” He thought it over quickly, and guesstimated. “Roughly half of what it’s supposed to? Same with his magic.”

“It would, after such a traumatic experience. If the soul is hurt, the rest recovers slowly.”

“...Didn’t know that one.” He gave a too-wide smile; with only one HP, he never knew all the finer points of healing. Not having any healing magic to speak of didn’t exactly help, either. “Is there anything I can…?”

“High-quality meals will help him recover a great deal, but he will need to consume them… and you said he was reluctant to eat?”

“Yeah. I can see why he feels so sick, knowing what’s…” ... _eating him_ was the way to end that sentence, but making a pun about his brother’s current condition felt beyond wrong. “And I’m not really a healer, so that’s out.”

“Surely someone in town would be willing to heal him?”

Oh boy. “There’s another problem with that. See, uh… He doesn’t really want anyone else to know.” He scratched at his kneecap uneasily, only to flinch when he realized his mistake.

“...If he does not wish for anyone to know…” she began, her words edged in anger, “why would you tell _me_?”

Sans went silent, tapping one finger against the snow-covered ground and grinding his teeth. After a moment, he drew in a deep breath and turned to glare at the door. “Lady… you _did_ tell me to make sure he didn’t do something stupid. Well, he’s been inching closer and closer to that, and I had to do _something_. I don’t know what I’d do if he—”

“You need to be sure to keep _yourself_ from foolish decisions.”

He hung his head. _Too late for that one._

“...What has he been doing?”

Sans’s voice had gone even quieter than normal, which was an accomplishment. “Pushing me away. Clawing at his chest. He—he even went to the cliffside at one point.”

“O-oh my,” she stammered. “He sounds like he is struggling with a great deal of inner guilt.”

“Yeah. He thinks this whole thing is _his_ fault. Says whoever hurt him is his…” Sans cringed at the acrid taste of the word. “... _friend_.”

“He is most _certainly_ not. But you do not know who this ‘friend’ is?”

“Nah. He won’t tell me.”

“Make sure he does _not_ see this so-called friend ever again.” She took a moment to calm herself. “And… try to help him understand that _he_ is not the one at fault.”

Heaving a sigh, Sans leaned his back against the door again. “Easier said than done.”

“Do your best. Make sure he feels safe, be there for him, and keep him calm.”

“He’s been pretty moody lately. Hard to keep him calm.”

“Well, perhaps you could cook him a—no, you said he had no appetite. Perhaps, then, you could prepare him some tea to help stimulate his appetite?”

“Worth a shot.” Sticking his hand into his pocket, he felt the bag of tea that Asgore had given him earlier.

And he stood upright, eyesockets wide.

Tea. Greater Dog had been allergic to the tea. He’d also had an allergic reaction to a scent on Papyrus yesterday, but there were no flowers _here_ that he was allergic to.

Flowers.

Papyrus had smelled like _flowers._

A thousand warning bells went off in his mind, and he was unconsciously beginning to edge away from the door.

He caught himself right before he took a shortcut. “Gotta go, lady. I think I’ve got something.”

“What are you—?”

That was all he heard as he stepped through the shortcut, and was gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a quick reminder that you're always welcome to give me constructive criticism in your reviews. If you feel someone is out of character, or something wasn't portrayed correctly, or the pacing is poor, or the writing is bad in any way, please let me know. I do want to produce the best story I can for you all! Let me know if I'm doing anything wrong, and I'll try my best to improve it. Thank you!


	13. Puzzle Pieces

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vials of blue, drawings of patterns, and souls of chalk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So that took a little longer than I expected. But this chapter also wound up longer than I expected, so I hope that makes up for it!
> 
> A couple notes before we begin, though. For one, I mixed up the names of RG03 and RG04 in the previous chapters! That's been corrected now, but to avoid confusion: 03 is the mantis, and 04 is the cat.
> 
> Two, I added some new tags. Some were ones I'd merely forgotten to add before, but one is for something that's very briefly mentioned in this chapter, so, a warning that that's in there.
> 
> Three, [I drew an illustration](http://asleepyskeleton.tumblr.com/post/148673417973/rage-and-revulsion-from-chapter-eleven-of-my) from chapter 11 of the story. It's been added to the author's notes at the end of that chapter, but I figured I would link it here.
> 
> That about covers it, I believe. Thanks to my beta reader for looking over this for me.

Golly, Papyrus sure could create quite the spectacle—even out of some little thing like spilled tea leaves.

Of course the king would give out his special golden flower tea, as though some pretty little gift would make everyone forget the fact that they’d failed to save that kid.

_Sure helped_ you _, didn’t it, king?_

It hadn’t surprised him when Asgore had passed around the little consolation prizes… but Papyrus’s reaction to them _had_. He hadn’t expected to see him going nuts like that, screaming and huddling against the wall. Boy, that had been interesting!

He’d seen him scrub his already-clean bones until he hurt himself, too, and that had been…

...had been…

Flowey had slipped away from the bedroom window, lost for a moment. He wasn’t sure why, but something about the way Papyrus acted was bringing back memories—memories of long ago. It was back when he was still getting used to being a flower, and hating every second of it to the point of attacking the body that did not feel like his own. He’d even gone as far as to light some of his own vines on fire or cut them off with sharp rocks, but of course, that hadn’t really done anything for him. It’d been something to do at least—something to stave off his endless boredom—but he still remembered how upset he’d felt at the time.

Papyrus seemed pretty upset, too.

_Wimp._

Yeah, so Flowey had hurt him. So what? _He_ wasn’t stuck in some soulless body for eternity. He just had a few injured bones, is all.

...Though it struck him—Papyrus was also acting a bit like _they_ did, when he’d find them in their room sometimes… sometimes with a knife—

A cold, sick feeling washed over him, making him shudder. That was enough of _that_ line of thought.

Besides, this was what he’d _wanted_. He’d _wanted_ to turn Papyrus into a wreck. Everything was going to plan. Papyrus was getting worse and worse, and Sans would be soon to follow. He should be hap—

Satisfied. Yes. He’d be satisfied when he was done here. For the time being.

Speaking of being done here, he _did_ need to move this along. And if Papyrus kept going the way he was, it was going to take a _long_ time to move on if he didn’t intervene.

Carefully he looked around the back yard again, making sure the guards hadn’t noticed anything (they hadn’t, of course, the dimwits), and crept back up to the back window. Sure enough, Papyrus was still in his room, curled up on his bed. His clothes were back on, and he was lying on top of his sheets, staring blankly at the lights on the ceiling. After several breakdowns in a row, he was probably exhausted and not thinking all that clearly.

Perfect.

Reaching a vine up, Flowey tapped on the window.

It took several moments for Papyrus to finally turn his head, but when he did, he let out a loud yelp that Flowey could hear through the window. Frantically the skeleton scrambled backward, nearly falling over the back of his childish racecar bed. Still he leaned back over it as far as he could, as though a few inches made that much of a difference.

Flowey quickly put the vine to his mouth— _shhhh_ —and put on an apologetic look. He then gazed all around the window frame, pointing at it with the vine and frowning, then looking back at Papyrus. He wasn’t too much a fan of miming, but he couldn’t be too loud here, or he’d attract the guards.

Fortunately Papyrus caught on quickly, hesitantly scooting across his bed and sitting on the edge of it without getting up. He glanced over at the door a few times, but Flowey quickly shook his head, putting on the saddest look he could muster. He figured Papyrus wouldn’t be able to resist helping someone who was upset, and sure enough, he couldn’t, even in this state.

Papyrus stood, staggering for a moment (gee, had he not eaten at _all_?), and shakily dragged himself over to the window. He reached over the desk, undoing the latches and lifting up the window, and Flowey heaved a sigh of relief as he poked his head in.

“Thanks, friend,” Flowey said, still keeping quiet—partially to avoid detection, and partially to make sure he didn’t sound harsh at all. Trust was crucial, and he had to make sure Papyrus kept whatever sliver of it he still had. “How are you doing?”

Papyrus winced when Flowey leaned a bit further into the room, taking a step back and still fighting to keep his balance. “U-um, fine?”

_Liar_. “Oh, that’s good!” he said, bobbing his head with a small smile. “You didn’t come back to work yesterday, and you haven’t been at the forest at all today. I was worried!”

“Oh,” was all Papyrus said.

It was so funny hearing him be so _quiet_ and succinct when normally he couldn’t stop yelling about every little thing that came to his mind. Flowey’d done a number on him! It was hard to keep from giggling, but he managed.

The skeleton shifted in place, rubbing his right ulna and radius. (Oh right, hadn’t Flowey tried to pry those apart? That had been interesting.) “Wh-what do you want?”

“Well…” Flowey fidgeted in a false gesture of unease, looking from side to side. “I really _was_ worried, friend, and I... may have decided to check up on you last night, to make sure you were okay.”

Papyrus flinched back, looking horrified.

“Oh! You’re not mad at me, are you?” Flowey asked, putting on a saddened look. “I was just doing it because I’m your friend! Friends check up on each other sometimes, right?”

After a moment, Papyrus nodded the tiniest bit.

“Good.” Flowey relaxed, only to put on a nervous demeanor again, rubbing his leaves together. “Well you looked like you were sleeping soundly, so that’s good! Except…”

“What?” Papyrus asked, his voice a soft squeak.

“Well… I don’t want to _upset_ you, Papyrus…”

“Wh-what did you do, Flowey?” The skeleton was leaning slightly closer now.

“Oh, _I_ didn’t do anything!” Flowey replied, holding his leaves up in defense. “Buuut…” He hesitated, tapping the tips of his leaves together. “Papyrus, you told me a long time ago… could you tell me again what your special magic can do?”

Papyrus blinked. “W-we can use blue magic t-to hold someone by the soul,” he said quickly. “And—and s-sometimes we can read their soul a little.” He seemed confused, impatient, but Flowey hadn’t finished lining up the dots for him to connect.

Flowey drooped his petals. “Oh…”

Gripping the back of the desk chair, Papyrus took a step forward, and Flowey knew he had him. “What _happened_?”

“Well… when I looked into your room last night… your brother was there.” He could see Papyrus finally starting to put the pieces together, and inwardly grinned at the realization dawning on his face. Outwardly, he leaned forward, giving Papyrus a look of utmost concern. “Papyrus… I think he was reading your soul.”

Papyrus drew in a sharp breath, his hand immediately at his chest and gripping his ribcage through his shirt. “N-no,” he stammered, his other hand in a vice-like grip on the back of his chair. “S-Sans wouldn’t… H-how do you…?”

“He was reaching out, and your soul was glowing blue,” Flowey said with a solemn nod. “And he looked _really_ disgusted, and angry.”

His breathing became shallow and stuttery, and he shook his head, gripping his ribcage tighter. “N-no, no…”

“I know it’s hard to accept, but you have to trust me. I mean… did you see him acting a bit… suspicious this morning?” Flowey asked, tilting his head. “Like he was hiding something?”

Head hanging, Papyrus stared down at his feet, very clearly trying not to start crying again.

“I thought so.” This time he allowed himself to grin, since Papyrus wouldn’t see it. “Guess it must hurt when someone does something that invasive without your permission, huh?”

In spite of his efforts, tears dripped from Papyrus’s eyesockets and to the carpet.

“Don’t cry, Papyrus!” Flowey reached out with a vine to wipe the tears from his eyes. Immediately Papyrus flinched away, holding his hands out in a defensive gesture. Flowey ignored it, reaching the vine farther and stroking his back. “I know what we can do to fix this.”

Papyrus immediately stopped crying, but not because he was soothed. He seemed frozen under Flowey’s touch, and his face had gone blank.

“It’s obvious he doesn’t trust you, if he’s doing this, right?” Flowey nudged his shoulder blade. “Right?”

Papyrus nodded, expression still blank and unseeing.

“Papyrus…” He tilted his head, giving a soft smile. “Are you _really_ listening to me?”

When the skeleton didn’t immediately respond, Flowey tapped the vine against his neck, making him shiver. “Y-yes, I-I’m listening,” he squeaked, shuddering as he focused on one of the petals to the right of Flowey’s face.

Flowey resumed rubbing his shoulder blade. “You just need to regain your brother’s trust, is all. Prove you can be strong, and… do something heroic.” The vine moved to the opposite shoulder. “You’ve always wanted to do something like that, right?”

“Y-yes…” Papyrus glanced away. “B-but—”

“So I’ll keep an eye out, and let you know when there’s an opportunity for you to something great. After all…” He moved his vine to stroke Papyrus’s jaw, making him shiver again. “You are the _Great_ Papyrus, aren’t you?”

The skeleton tensed, then nodded stiffly.

“Good!” The vine pulled away, and Papyrus relaxed—to the point where he nearly lost his balance again, and quickly grabbed the edge of his desk to keep steady. Flowey allowed himself a giggle at the sight. “We’re friends, Papyrus, and I just want to watch out for you! Everything’ll be just fine. See you around!” He moved to leave, but paused. “Oh, and get something to eat. You look like a strong breeze would knock you over.” And with that, Flowey ducked out of the window, and zipped back into the ground.

 

* * *

 

As soon as he appeared in the room, he held out his hand, and hesitated.

It was pitch dark—there were no windows here, and the lights were off—yet he knew every nook and cranny of the place without having to see anything. He could navigate it blindfolded, and honestly, he almost _wanted_ to.

Unfortunately, while he _could_ walk around in the dark, he wouldn’t get much accomplished that way, so he had to switch the light on. It took a moment for the old lights to flicker on, and when they did, Sans blinked at the sight of his laboratory.

He hated this place.

Not long ago, he would have found the thought absurd; this was once his favorite room—even one of his favorite places, period. A few years earlier, it would have been a common sight to see blueprints strewn around, tools left everywhere, notes upon notes scattered across the floor, and an enormous machine whirring away in the back.

Now it was entirely barren, save for a single blueprint tacked above the counter and a hopelessly-broken machine covered by a tarp. It was the only room Sans ever bothered to keep clean anymore, just so he had less to look at when he _did_ come down here.

Today, however, there was no time to tiptoe around terrible memories. Papyrus was in trouble, and Sans was going to help.

Steeling himself, Sans approached a specific drawer and pulled it open, revealing a stack of worn notebooks and binders, as well as random tools, vials of strange liquids, and other odds and ends. The notebooks and vials were all labeled, but not in any common language; they were covered in symbols understood by few.

Sans could read them easily.

He selected one of the notebooks, skimming through it, pupils dimming as he flipped through the pages. While some pages contained data one might expect from a scientist—formulas, equations, chemistry jargon, and so on—many other pages read, in their hieroglyphic language, much like a diary. It was these pages Sans focused on, reading them as detachedly as possible.

_...nothing unusual for a month now, but the deja-vu is driving me…_

_...disappeared, search parties turned up empty, undyne is distraught…_

_...horrible things. no cure to be found. trying to do something..._

_...been gone for weeks why did i leave him alone don’t leave him alone never leave him alone again—_

The notebook flew across the room, and Sans breathed heavily, trying to calm his roiling magic and stop shaking. It took only a few moments, and he straightened his back, his pupils almost returning to their usual white, albeit still dim.

“Heh. Guess I’m not the only one with problems,” he muttered, smile humorless.

Looking back into the drawer, he pulled out another notebook, flipping through it. This one was much sparser on the details than the previous one and filled with more theorems and calculations, written nearly feverishly in some places. The details only became sparser as it went on, until each page was nothing but a series of cryptic notes.

_she’s hiding something._

_what did he do?_

_listen to her._

_try to care._

Helpful.

But then, he probably wouldn’t write anything all that different now, if he even bothered to record things anymore.

Humming in disappointment, he set the notebook on the counter and reached into the drawer again, this time grabbing a thick binder. He gave it a tug, but it barely shifted, and something glass clinked toward the back of the drawer. Brow furrowing, he tugged on the binder again, but it didn’t budge.

Huh.

Letting go of the binder for now, Sans began pulling the vials and tools out of the drawer, setting them on the counter to get them out of the way. As he worked his way toward the back of the drawer, he noticed something odd: an object there was emitting a faint blue light. Stooping down as he reached into the depths of the drawer, he found the source of the glowing—and the problem.

A long vial had been shoved lengthwise toward the back, and was pinning the binder in place against the other side of the drawer. The vial came out with a twist and a swift tug, loosening the binder, and Sans pulled it out to look it over. It was roughly four-fifths filled with a glowing, light-blue liquid, and had a label taped around it. This label, however, looked to be made from a torn piece of paper, and bore a message written in common:

“ **DO NOT DRINK.** ”

Sans quirked an eyebrow. “Welp, guess I know best.” And with that, he set the vial aside, and pulled out the binder.

The pages and folders contained within had more-or-less the same sort of content as the notebooks. The only difference was the occasional photograph that was shoved in amongst the pages, and Sans was careful to avoid those.

No, it wasn’t any memories, formulas, or photos he’d come for.

It was a single word.

And finally, in the last folder in the binder, he found it:

_Flower._

It must have been written a dozen times on every loose sheet of paper in the worn folder pockets.

_ Please _ _write about the flower next time._

_Okay. Stay away from the flower._

_What is the flower?_

_I haven’t seen the flower._

_Echo flower? Thistle? Buttercup?_

More formulas. More chemistry. A list of monsters that consumed thistles. A list of symptoms of buttercup poisoning. Even some really, really terrible botany diagrams (a few with joking notes to ask Papyrus to redraw them later).

Among these was a page with some… interesting contents. It looked like it may have had a very complex formula written across it—something containing echo flowers, it looked like—but said formula was buried under a slew of scrawlings reading “ **DO NOT DRINK** ” over and over again all over the page, which had a corner torn off of it. Remembered the vial from earlier, he picked it up again and examined the label, noting that not only did the torn edge of the label match the torn corner of the paper, the label was also written in the exact same way as the rest of the scrawlings: not only was the message the same, but there was also no variation in the letters, as though a stamp had been used. Except he was pretty sure he didn’t own a stamp like that.

Weird.

The next page had an arrow pointing toward the previous one, with a message written in the same language as the rest of the notes: _well,_ _that was a thing. not sure what day it is, but i’m getting the feeling that i shouldn’t drink that stuff._

“No kidding,” Sans muttered, nudging the vial a bit farther away and continuing to look through the folder.

More confused, vague notes about flowers, and a lot of angry scribbles over frankly awful flower diagrams. Bizarrely enough, there were even some recipes for mixes of flower tea, with an arrow pointing at one with a note of “ _hey, this is pretty good_ ,” which was crossed out with another note reading, “ _nevermind, aftertaste is crap._ ”

After several pages of notes attempting to decipher other notes, he came to one page with a single note written in large, frantic symbols:

_the flower talks._

Sans stared at the note for a few moments, tapping his finger against the counter. _Echo flowers talk,_ had been his first thought, but would one of the previous ‘hims’ really have written a vague message like that about echo flowers?

...What about a _sentient_ flower?

Immediately his bones tensed as the feeling of _deja-vu_ swept over him. He knew that feeling, and had come to trust it more and more with each passing timeline. Or did he trust it the same each time? He didn’t know anymore.

The important thing was, he’d hit on it—there was a sentient flower, and it was important—important enough that he’d written about it several times in timelines past. Possibly even dangerous.

...There was a dangerous flower that had caused trouble in multiple timelines, and Greater Dog had smelled flowers on…

Oh, _Asgore_.

In a wink, Sans was gone.

 

* * *

 

It took roughly eight knocks and three shouts for Papyrus to realize that someone was at his door. He scooted into an upright position, staring at the door dully before speaking up in a scratchy voice: “C-come in.”

The door opened, and RG04 stepped in, carrying a small, brown paper bag. “I stopped at Grillby’s, and the bartender insisted I give you this,” she said, holding out the bag. “I was told to inform you that it is not greasy, and that it contains noodles.”

Papyrus’s non-existent insides churned at the aspect of eating. Or doing anything else, for that matter. “Thank you,” he said, making no motion to retrieve the food.

The guard didn’t seem bothered by this, merely approaching the bed and setting the bag down within arm’s reach. “Would you like water?”

_I can get it myself_ , was his thought, but his body didn’t seem all that keen on moving much at the moment. He nodded.

04 nodded too, and stepped away from the bed. Wordlessly she picked up the bucket and towel that he’d left sitting on the floor and carried it out of the room. He hadn’t asked her to do that, but even the thought of standing up again made his head swim.

Was this what it was like to feel useless?

It took him a moment to work up the will to grab the bag and open it up. It felt warm, and he soon found out why: it contained a spoon, some napkins, and a sealed styrofoam cup filled with some kind of soup. It was yellow, and contained noodles, like the guard had said.

Part of him wanted to recoil from the aspect of eating, but he remembered what Flowey had said—he probably should eat, if he wanted to get better.

Flowey…

Papyrus shut his eyes; he didn’t have the energy to think about his… friend right now. It was too much effort—he barely had enough willpower to make himself eat.

But he managed, pulling the lid off of the cup and blinking when the savory scent hit him. It… didn’t smell _bad_. He dipped his spoon into it and hesitantly brought it to his mouth—

It suddenly struck him how _starving_ he was.

Before he knew it he’d consumed half the bowl, and felt some of his strength returning. Flowey had been right—he _did_ need this. By the time the guard returned with a glass of water, he’d already gulped down the remainder of the soup.

“Here you are, Sentry Papyrus,” 04 said, holding out the glass.

“Th-thank you,” he said, gratitude actually shining through his words this time as he took the glass. A thought struck him, and he stared down at the water guiltily. “Y-you… you two only need to guard the front door.” He took a tentative sip. “You don’t need to be doing all this for me.”

“Perhaps not,” the guard replied, “but we want to.”

Papyrus blinked, staring up into the cat’s visor.

But 04 didn’t elaborate; she only took the discarded paper bag and styrofoam cup, carrying it out. “We hope you have a swift recovery.” With that, she stepped out of the room and shut the door.

Papyrus looked back down at the water. _Recovery_ , he thought, tapping a phalange against the glass. _Recovery._

What was he even supposed to be recovering _from_?

The memories of the events from several nights ago had become confused and blurry, like something out of a nightmare, and he could barely make himself think about it—all he could remember was Flowey’s voice (it was a lot of yelling, because… because… Papyrus had… attacked him? Done something wrong? It was so hard to keep everything straight...), and the feeling of vines (he frantically gulped down the water to keep himself from remembering too much of that), and Sans not arriving until after it was…

_Sans…_

Sighing, he stared up at the lights on the ceiling. He didn’t want to believe what Flowey had said about his brother, but... some part of him knew that there was a very real possibility that it was true. Maybe Sans hadn’t just been hiding the fact that he’d spoken to Undyne—maybe he’d been hiding the fact that he’d _read his soul_.

Papyrus’s bones rattled as his body racked in a deep shudder, and he clutched his chest again. He could feel his soul throbbing within him—it wasn’t _fair_. He wasn’t a baby bones. His brother had no right to _do_ that. Those were _his_ thoughts, _his_ memories, _his_ feelings… He hardly wanted to remember any of it himself, let alone let anyone else know. Let alone his _brother_.

_Sans, why would you do that…?_

Everything felt wrong enough as it was—his exhaustion, his nightmares, his _brain thinking he was somewhere else_ —and even before last night, he couldn’t shake the feeling that he’d been pried open, somehow, and had something stolen from him. Now the feeling was compounded with the supposed knowledge that his _brother_ had pried into his soul, looked into things that he’d wanted to keep private…

And he’d been… angry and disgusted…?

Papyrus’s magic reeled in horror at the implications. Of course… Sans had probably figured out what had happened, and he was angry and disgusted at _him_ —how he’d let this happen, how he’d done the wrong thing, how he’d messed up his own magic so much that nothing made sense anymore…

No wonder Sans felt angry and disgusted at him. He felt the same way about himself, too.

But… maybe Sans hadn’t _really_ done that. Maybe Flowey had thought wrong. Flowey didn’t _totally_ know how their magic worked, did he? So maybe Sans had been doing something else, and Flowey had read the situation wrong. This was _Sans_ , after all. He was his brother. He wouldn’t really do something invasive like that, would he?

...No, of course he wouldn’t. How could he think that? Sans would never—

_Knockknockknockknocknock._

With a jolt, Papyrus came out of his thoughts to find himself curled up into a tight ball. He hadn’t remembered doing that, but he carefully unfolded himself from the position, looking over at the door again. What did the guards want now? “C-come in,” he said, sitting up a bit straighter—

The door swung open, and Sans stumbled in, white pupils glowing fiercely.

Yelping, Papyrus scrambled backward, succeeding in knocking himself over onto the trunk of his car bed, his thoughts in a whirl of _he’s angry at you, he’s disgusted by you, he doesn’t trust you anymore I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry…_

“Bro!” Sans was at the side of his bed, reaching out to him. “What happened?”

Papyrus scooted farther away, pinning himself to the corner of his wall. “I-I’m sorry,” he whispered, shivering.

Sans’s voice was equally quiet. “...What are you sorry about?”

When he finally dared look his brother in the eyes, Papyrus was surprised to see the look of horror and hurt that stared back at him. “F-for…” He searched for the words, his gaze falling on Sans’s still-outstretched hand.

_He was reaching out … And he looked_ really _disgusted and angry._

“...It’s okay, Paps,” Sans said slowly. When Papyrus did not take his hand, he pulled it away, and carefully crawled up onto the bed. “I’m not mad about that.”

Papyrus shuddered, his soul burning. _He’s lying,_ part of him thought, while another part of him frantically insisted that he _couldn’t_ be _._

“Look, I need to ask you something important, okay?” He situated himself on the bed as Papyrus pushed himself upright, sitting on the car’s retracted hood. “This, uh, this might sound weird, but…”

Sans looked off to the side for a moment, steeling himself, then gave his brother a serious look.

“Do you know anything about a talking flower?”

Papyrus went rigid, every doubt in his mind shattering. Something burned within him, ugly and acidic and _angry_ —

“Y-you would know, wouldn’t you, brother?” Papyrus snapped, his hands balling into fists.

Sans blanched.

“Did you think I wouldn’t find out?” He leaned forward, and Sans leaned back. “D-did you think—think that I’m still some baby bones? Th-that I’m st… _stupid_?”

Sans’s voice was small. “No.”

“Then _why would you do that to me_?!” Papyrus stood on the bed, the effect startling. Sans scrambled back without thinking, starting to tip off the edge of the bed.

Angry as he was, Papyrus reacted automatically, reaching down for his brother to grab him. Sans reacted just as automatically, clinging to his hand, and it was in that moment Papyrus realized something.

He yanked his hand away, made a grasping motion, and Sans’s soul was blue.

_One HP._

_Magic reserves four-fifths full._

_Fear. Exhaustion. Self-hatred._

With just a bit more effort, he could delve into his brother’s thoughts, dissect his emotions, invade his privacy. He could yell at his brother, demand to know what it felt like when it was done to _him_.

But he didn’t.

Something else had caught his attention, and his arm began to tremble.

Souls, though intangible, had a feeling. They could be warm with caring, burning with energy, soft with sympathy or sorrow, rotten with bitterness.

Sans’s soul felt like chalk.

Brittle.

Whatever ugly feeling had invaded Papyrus was quickly washed out with the absolute sickening horror of _what am I doing, why would I do this, this is my brother this is_ Sans _I could hurt him I could…_

Sans’s eyesockets had gone blank, his expression unreadable as he hung in mid-air, suspended by his soul.

Shakingly Papyrus set him on the ground, and released his magic. Sans looked like he was about to fall over, but he didn’t. He didn’t move.

Papyrus looked down at his hand—the one he’d grabbed Sans’s soul with, and sank down onto his bed, curling up into a ball and grasping his head.

A small voice spoke up, just above a whisper. “Y-you’re right, bro.”

He couldn’t bring himself to turn, to look at Sans again. “I-I… I’m sorr…” he choked out, curling up tighter.

A few seconds later, he felt something touch his shoulder blade. His mind saw an outstretched vine, and he yelped, flinching away and bumping against the wall. Out of the corner of his eye he could see Sans pulling his hand (a hand, not a vine, a _hand_ ) away, his eyesockets still blank.

“...I’m sorry too, Papyrus.”

After several moments, he heard the shuffling of slippers against carpet as Sans dragged himself out of the room, shutting the door behind him. Papyrus did not uncoil.

He was right in what he’d told Sans the other day.

Sans shouldn’t trust him.

 

* * *

 

The legs of the boat came to a stop and sank down into the water, and they stepped off. It was RG02’s turn to tip the riverperson this time—at least, as far as he could remember, since it’d been some time since they’d been stationed outside of Hotland—and he did so without complaint.

RG01 took a moment to lament the fact that he’d had his fur trimmed for Hotland’s climate. True, he’d been raised in Snowdin, but it’d been ages since he’d been here, and the place was always colder than he remembered. “This is, like, awful,” he said with a shudder.

“...It’s nice here,” 02 said quietly. He drew in a deep breath of the chilly evening air, and as he exhaled, a small flame flickered out of the gap in his helmet.

“Uh—yeah!” 01 straightened his back. “Totally! I was just… y’know, I meant the situation with the sentry. Not cool, you know?”

“...We shouldn’t keep the other guards waiting.”

“Yeah, uh, you’re right.”

The directions to the skeletons’ house were easy enough to follow, even though they lived on the farther end of town. Soon they found themselves approaching a cozy-looking house with two tired-looking guards standing at the front door. Upon their approach, the female guards turned their heads.

“Hey, like, we’re here to relieve you?” 01 called out as he marched up to the door.

“Oh, thank goodness,” 03 said, her antennae drooping.

“It’s been… a long day.” 04’s whiskers twitched.

02 tilted his head. “...Boring?”

“I wouldn’t exactly say that.” The mantis rubbed her arm. “Y-you were told what happened, right?”

01 shrugged. “Yeah, like, someone attacked the sentry, so we’re just guarding his pad so no one bothers him. Right?”

“He is not in a good way,” 04 said. “Sans has yet to arrive home, and the sentry Papyrus is…”

Shuffling her feet, 03 looked down at the snow for a moment before looking back up at the male guards. “Do you… know how to handle panic attacks?”

“Uh.” 01 and 02 exchanged glances.

“It may be useful to have Sans’s phone number, if Undyne hasn’t given it to you.”

“...She gave it to us,” 02 confirmed, and 01 gave an uneasy laugh.

“Oh, uh, did she? I like, forgot to put it on my phone.”

“...I have it.”

“Well, th-that’s good.” 03 gave a short nod. “If anything comes up… call him or Undyne.”

“And call Undyne if Sans takes his time returning home,” 04 added.

“Yep, totally got it.”

With that, the guards said their goodbyes, 01 and 02 took up their posts in front of the skeletons’ house. Once 03 and 04 were out of earshot, 01 stole a glance at his partner. “Panic attacks?”

“...This wasn’t in the job description.”

 

* * *

 

For lack of a will to do anything else, Sans stared up at the ceiling.

He was lying on his mattress, not really caring for the cold draft in the room, the lack of blankets, or the fact that one of his slippers had fallen off when he’d collapsed onto his “bed.” His hand was clutched over his ribcage, not clawing at it the way Papyrus did, but pressed against it, as though trying to get a feel for his own soul.

It had never gotten this bad before.

He’d had more than his fair share of moments of worthlessness—stretches of days  where he couldn’t shake the feeling that nothing he did would matter. Sometimes he would go through the motions, sometimes he would just sleep, and sometimes he would just go to Grillby’s and drink and drink until he didn’t care about what mattered and what didn’t.

But always, always he’d waited for Papyrus to pull him out of it—to say something to snap him out of his haze, to yell at him to wake up and get to work, to drag him by the heel out of Grillby’s and scold him once he was sober.

Not that he never took care of Papyrus, of course, but Papyrus was the one thing that kept him stable—that brought him back to his senses. If Papyrus was okay, he knew that maybe, somehow, _he_ would be, too.

But Papyrus wasn’t okay.

He clutched his ribcage a bit more tightly, but not enough to hurt.

He was sure—he _knew_ —there were timelines where Papyrus hadn’t been okay—where he’d disappeared and never come back, or when he _did_ come back, it would be as a pile of fine powder. The thing was, he couldn’t remember those—he only knew they had happened, thanks (no thanks) to the old journals he kept. He didn’t know what had happened to the previous “hims” either, since the journals usually stopped there, but he could imagine.

Going to sleep, and never getting up.

Drinking himself sick, and keep drinking.

...Joining him in the dust pile.

But this timeline wasn’t like those ones. Papyrus was alive—but not well. Sans couldn’t give up on his brother, as much as a very small, very selfish, very _rotten_ piece of him wished he could.

That piece of him seemed to like attacking him at moments like this.

_What good would it even do you to try fixing things now?_ it asked. _You’ve already blown it._

_I can’t give up on Papyrus. I can’t do that._

_It wouldn’t matter if you did in the long run. It’s not like this is going to stay anyway._

_I don’t know that for sure._

_Yes, you do. It always happens. You know that. You were just looking at the proof of it not long ago._

**_I don’t care._ **

_No, you don’t, do you?_

Sans pressed the heels of his hands into his eyesockets. This was why he stopped getting involved so much—it either did nothing, or made things worse. He would make promises that he had to break. He would try to stop the inevitable and fail. He would record things and never learn from them because everything he wrote was _too depressing to even read_.

_Stars, I need a drink._

And another, and another. Getting smashed sounded great right about now.

The only thing keeping him from taking a shortcut straight to Grillby’s was the fact that he could barely bring himself to move.

_Why do I even try?_

He stared through the gaps in his phalanges.

_Heh. Trick question: I don’t._

But he should, though. He knew he should. Papyrus needed help, even if it wasn’t his. Undyne’s number was on his phone, and he’d need to report to her.

...But there were guards at the front door, and Papyrus was safe in his room.

It could wait until he felt a bit less like turning into dust.

 

* * *

 

The pencil traced across the sketchpad, creating geometric shapes with startling precision. Some were squares, either filled in or empty, and others were arrows, _X_ s, _O_ s, triangles, and others such shapes. Lines traced through them, finding patterns where none had previously existed, before stopping in the middle of the design.

With a couple dramatic swipes, Papyrus struck an _X_ across the page and flipped it over, sticking his pencil in his mouth.

More often than not, if he couldn’t think of anything else, his mind defaulted to patterns. It was part of the reason he was so good with puzzles, after all—they came naturally to him. His sketchbooks were full of patterns, creating a neverending well of designs he could draw from when he needed to update his puzzles in the forest. Some worked out better than others, of course, but they were all fairly logical, even if he made them off the top of his head.

He was good at patterns.

He could find them in puzzles, in places, in people. People followed patterns, to some extent—even if he wasn’t always the best at reading people like Sans was, he could usually figure out their patterns, both in their looks and their actions.

Gingerly his phalanges flipped through the pages; scattered throughout the puzzle designs were sketches of places—mostly spots in the Snowdin forest and the quieter caverns of Waterfall—and people. There was the innkeeper with slim but curved shapes, always ready to give a free room to a weary traveler, a bit of healing magic to a hurt child, a piece of candy to a visiting skeleton. There was Sans, having _far_ too many round shapes for a skeleton, nearly always halfway between telling a pun and falling asleep. There was—

He gave a jolt.

There was Flowey, all friendly circles and six soft petals, and…

...and…

Papyrus stared at the sketch.

He’d wanted to surprise Flowey, sketching him from memory. People usually liked his sketches when he bothered to show them off—not something he did often, since he’d rather people see his fine puzzles and magic skills than something as un-Royal-Guardsman-like as _drawings—_ so he thought his friend might appreciate the gift. He’d drawn him as he always remembered him: smiling, friendly, and patient, always ready to listen, or to encourage him, or to cheer him up.

That wasn’t the pattern he was following anymore.

_Snap._

Papyrus blinked, suddenly aware that he’d chewed his pencil in half.

He scooted into a more upright position on his bed, spitting out the other half of the pencil and setting the two broken halves aside as his gaze turned back to the sketch.

It wasn’t as though people never broke patterns—heck, he was doing it right now.

Sometimes a change meant that something was going right—some days Sans could actually stay awake a bit longer, and his smiles seemed more sincere—but more often, they meant that something was _wrong_.

The innkeeper had gotten sick one time, and had to allow people to take care of her for once. Sans had his worse days, where he’d sleep far longer than he should or didn’t make any jokes at all.

Flowey…

Papyrus groaned, covering his eyes. What _had_ gone wrong? What had caused Flowey to go from cheerful flower he’d sketched from memory, to…?

Numbly, he picked up the sharpened half of the pencil and flipped to a blank page in his sketchbook. The graphite scratched against the paper in jerky movements, forming rough, angular shapes. He detached himself from his work, focusing only on the shapes, the gray lines growing darker and the graphite digging into the paper with his efforts.

Finally he stopped, and stared at the image.

Almost immediately he flipped the pages back to the friendlier image he’d drawn months ago, and his mind tripped, failing to reconcile the fact that both sketches were of the same person.

It didn’t make sense.

It didn’t make _sense_.

What had happened? What had he _done_? Had he missed a promised meeting? Offended him? Hurt him?

He remembered—Flowey had told him later that he’d hurt him. He couldn’t remember how or why, but he had, and it must have been _bad_ to turn Flowey from this, to…

Papyrus pushed the sketchpad to the far end of his bed, and stared down at his hands.

This was a puzzle he could not solve.

 

* * *

 

A cold, crisp air swept westward through the forest, and she embraced the feeling as it rushed over her thick coat of fur. It was quieter in the forest, now, without the children from the town running about. Most of her kin had returned to the cliffside for the night, satisfied and sleepy after a long day of wandering the woods.

Not all of them were gone, though; some had decided to stay out a bit longer to hunt down the better meals, now that there was less competition. Others, like her, merely wanted to relish the illusion of freedom for a few more moments. After all, there was no guarantee this would last for another day—eventually the children would return to torment them.

She didn’t want to think about that right now.

Right now, her hooves tread softly through the snow as her four eyes gazed upward, drinking in the rare sight of the crystals shining above.

It would be a peaceful night.

 

* * *

 

_Taptaptap._

Bolting upright, Papyrus sat up on the edge of his bed, staring wide-eyed at the window. It was getting dark, now, and he hadn’t expected to hear from Flowey again so soon. A shudder ran down his spine, but it quickly left him when he saw the panicked expression on his friend’s face.

_Taptaptap **taptaptap.**_

Only hesitating for a second, Papyrus stood and crossed the room to where Flowey was waiting for him at the window. His friend was practically squirming, vines writhing in nervous energy before they tapped impatiently at the glass again. His expression was etched in fear and anxiety.

Once the window was open, Flowey wasted no time in sticking his head in. “Oh, Papyrus!” he whispered, voice trembling. “I-I was worried I wouldn’t get to you on time!”

The past few days, his friend’s appearing at all had made him sick with apprehension and fear. Now he felt the same thing, but for different reasons—he couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen Flowey so scared. “Wh-what is it, Flowey?”

“There’s—i-in the forest, there’s a kid that’s…!” His sentence trailed off into a frightened whimper.

Papyrus’s bones rattled in a deep shudder— _again_?! “A-are you sure?” he whispered.

“ _Yes_! Papyrus, we need to help him! I-I can’t do it myself; I’m not strong enough!” Two vines squirmed together, giving the impression of wringing hands. “Please, friend, we have to hurry!”

His initial response was to begin climbing out the window, but he stopped himself.

Something about this didn’t feel right.

“F… Flowey,” he said, forcing himself to look his friend in the eye, “are you telling the truth?”

Something flashed across Flowey’s face, but it turned to a hurt expression too quickly for Papyrus to read it. Maybe it hadn’t been there in the first place. “Why would you _ask_ that?”

“I-I don’t… I’m sorry.” Papyrus rubbed his head, only to look up again when a thought struck him. “But—there’s guards out front. W-we should let them know, and they can help us!” Immediately he made a turn for the door—

A vine was around his shoulder, and there was snow, and the forest, and more vines, and Flowey—

“DON’T!” came a harsh whisper.

The vine shook him roughly while another guided his jaw, and he found himself facing Flowey—in his room, not in the forest. He swallowed dryly.

“Don’t call the guards—they’re in that heavy armor and it slows them down. We won’t make it in time if we wait for them! You’re faster than they are, Papyrus. Besides…”

The vine massaged the shoulder it held, and Papyrus shivered.

“You want to prove yourself again after your last failure… don’t you?”

Papyrus froze up, joints stiffening in Flowey’s grasp. It… it was all true, what Flowey was saying—both about the guards, and his proving himself—but he couldn’t shake the feeling that something still wasn’t right. His non-existent stomach churned with unease, and his limbs itched to move, to bolt down the stairs to call for the guards, to grab his phone to call Undyne, to get as far away from Flowey as possible. “F-Flowey—”

Flowey swayed, his expression shifting back to the same saddened, frightened one he’d had moments ago. “If we don’t leave soon… he’s going to die.”

His stomach jumped to his throat, and his soul gave an aching throb at the memory—the fallen tree, the frantic footprints, the upturned snow dug out too late to save—

“All right!” he whimpered, and Flowey relented his grasp. “All right, Flowey… lead the way.”

 

* * *

 

A smile crept across his face, and he barely managed to pass it off as a hopeful one. “We’ll make it, friend,” he whispered, pulling out of the room.

To his brief confusion, Papyrus pulled back away from the window. For a moment he worried that he was really going to chicken out on this—that he would really leave a metaphorical child to die—but that would just be out of character. (Which would be interesting, sure, but not what he wanted right this moment.) Half a second later he realized Papyrus was preparing to jump out the window, and he stopped him.

“No, no, the guards, remember?” Flowey began twining his vines together, forming a makeshift rope that he hooked around the windowsill. “We have to stay quiet so we don’t alert them—they’ll slow us down!”

Papyrus nodded, too terrified of failure to argue again. He took one glance at the vines and shut his eyes, but took hold of them nonetheless, pulling himself through the window and sliding softly down to the ground.

Flowey was quick to follow him, but not before shutting the window. His vines untangled themselves and slipped underground as his main stem shrank down. “He’s out to the northwest,” he said, angling his head in the direction. “If we hurry, we might be able to save him.”

Nodding again, Papyrus started to march—in his bare feet, Flowey noted with amusement—toward the line of trees behind the house, but stopped. Darn it, what was it now? “W-why—why didn’t you ask the nightshift guard?”

Oh. That was easy enough to answer, and for a truthful reason. “Doggo,” Flowey muttered, and Papyrus drooped.

“Oh.”

“Go on! I’ll meet you by the bridge,” Flowey said, and Papyrus wasted no time, taking off in quick strides. Good—he’d clearly been eating again, like Flowey had asked him to. They’d get there quickly.

Of course, those wide strides were helpful for another reason.

With a mischievous giggle, Flowey stretched a long vine out of the ground, and swept it across the back yard. In one quick movement, the tracks of skeletal footprints were buried under a layer of loose snow.

 

* * *

 

Undyne had just cleaned up after dinner (quite the lengthy process, given her usual cooking methods) and was getting ready to feed her pet fish when her phone began blaring a song that involved a lot of electric guitar and the singer repeatedly shouting something about a dragon. Slipping her phone out of her pocket, she hit “talk” and pressed the receiver to her ear. “S’up?”

“Hey, like, Captain Undyne?”

“Oh, hang on, 01.” Quickly shaking some fish flakes into the tank, Undyne puffed out her chest and put on her more authoritative, captain-of-the-guard voice. “What is it, soldier?”

“Like, 02 and I have been guarding the sentry’s house like you asked, and it’s like, gotten really dark.”

Undyne set the food container aside, brow furrowing as she watched her pet gobble up its dinner. “And?”

“Uh… Sans hasn’t come back yet.”

Drawing in a hissing breath between her fangs, Undyne stared down at the time on her phone. It _was_ getting late. If Sans hadn’t come back to take care of Papyrus, that could mean one of many different things, and none of them were good. “I’ll take care of it. Dismissed.”

 

* * *

 

Sans was brought out of his daze by the sound of a jingle from an old human commercial advertising canned tuna. With the state he was in now, he would have ignored any other phone call, but he knew he couldn’t ignore this one—he’d been planning on calling her, anyway.

He answered the phone. “Heya.”

Undyne responded by asking him where he was, using language colorful enough to make a woshua run screaming in terror.

It didn’t faze him; even when he wasn’t feeling close to numb, Undyne’s yelling never cowed him much. “At home,” he replied, sitting up on his mattress.

Somehow she managed to sound both relieved and angry at the same time. “How the heck are you at home?! None of my guards saw you!”

“I have my ways.” When she began to reply, he cut her off. “Look, I was meaning to call you. I might have something figured out.”

The importance of the topic quelled any anger she might have had. “You have a lead?”

“I might.”

“Well—why didn’t you tell me that earlier?! Have you talked to Papyrus?”

Sans tensed. “Uh, that’s the thing. I…” He sighed. “I screwed up. Papyrus is too upset to talk to me now.”

Muttered swearing came over the other line. “What’s the lead? Anything I can go off of?”

“I wouldn’t jump on that too quickly,” Sans said, then realized how ridiculous that sounded, given time was of the essence. “If I’m wrong, you’ll be on a wild goose chase and probably think I’m crazy. We need to confirm it with Papyrus first, and…”

For once, Undyne didn’t reply. She was waiting for it.

“...I need your help.”

He could hear the grin in her voice. “Got it. Want me to call him?”

“No, you should probably come over. He… he probably trusts you more than me right now.”

“Right. I’m on my way.”

He stared down at his dirty carpet, noticing his orphaned slipper and scooting it over to him with his foot. He may have failed his brother, but Papyrus still trusted Undyne. If she couldn’t help him, then…

Sans didn’t want to think about it.

 

* * *

 

Papyrus had, amazingly enough, managed to sneak across town without being noticed. Though perhaps it was less of a surprise given the late hour and the fact that he’d been darting behind the houses rather than down the streets. He’d nearly lost his footing a few times on the bridge and the icy paths—why hadn’t he at least taken a moment to put his boots on?—but his drive pushed him onward.

He wasn’t going to let a child die. Not again.

Part of him wondered why Flowey had been so scant on details, but it made sense that he didn’t want to take too much time explaining the situation. Every second spent talking meant another second lost, and he’d already wasted enough time hesitating in his room.

Every so often it would hit him just where he was—in the depths of the Snowdin forest, in the dark—and he would shiver and nearly stop running. But he couldn’t let himself turn back—he had enough dust on his hands. Besides, there was nothing out here to get him, right?

Flowey was with him, after all—he was popping up every so often and pointing him in the right direction. He was working alongside him. He was helping him—he wanted to save the child, and he wanted Papyrus to succeed.

Papyrus’s soul gave a hopeful flutter when it hit him—Flowey was acting like his old self again! He wanted him to help people, and do what was right, and gain everyone’s respect! Yes, maybe Papyrus had messed up before, but Flowey was going to help him, just like he always did!

Whatever Papyrus had done to hurt Flowey in the past didn’t matter—clearly it was past them now, and Flowey was back to being the same friend he’d always been. That made sense… didn’t it?

He nearly wanted to laugh in joy—he felt like a burden had been lifted. But the wind blew harshly behind him, reminding him of the dire situation.

Celebration would come later. Right now, he had to act quickly, before—

“Right up there! Hurry!”

Flowey’s voice was nearly carried away by the wind, but Papyrus could see him up ahead, pointing frantically at what looked to be a clearing up ahead. Soul fluttering, he bolted toward it, his magic rushing through him in anticipation of what he would find.

For a split second he realized he had no idea just what sort of situation the child had wound up in, but he reasoned that he would figure it out as soon as he saw it.

Except when he stepped into the clearing, he saw nothing but clean, white snow, devoid of footprints. It hadn’t been snowing.

“...Flowey?” he called, looking around. The flower was gone, and now his magic was rushing for a very different reason. “Wh—where’s this child that’s in trouble?”

The wind howled at his back, and the voice was so low it nearly seemed part of it.

“ _Right here._ ”

And two vines whipped around his shoulders, yanking him to the ground.


	14. Flowers and Bones

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Smells like flowers.
> 
> Smells like bones.
> 
> Feels like magic.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I know, it's been a month. But this chapter is over eleven thousand words long--a record for me, I believe--so I hope that makes up for it?
> 
> But...
> 
> I... need to warn you, readers. You recall chapter 4, yes?
> 
> This chapter is **worse**.
> 
> I felt ill writing some of these scenes. This is not a fun ride. To use the cliche, you are going to have a very bad time. Please, please be careful, and be prepared to skim or skip if you have to.
> 
> A huge thank-you to my beta for braving through this chapter. I hope you'll be able to do the same readers, but if not... I understand.

The door creaked open, and with it came a rush of harsh wind. He could barely hear Undyne grumble something—probably about the weather—before she shut the door and stomped up the stairs. Her steps weren’t heavy; she wasn’t wearing armor, which made sense. He wondered, briefly, if she was stupid enough to wear a tank top or tee shirt out here, as she often did.

_Knock, knock, knock._

“C’mon, Sans, don’t tell me you fell asleep on me.” Her voice was softer—she was probably restraining herself so to not upset Papyrus in the other room.

Standing from his mattress, Sans stretched and listened to the popping and cracking of the magic that held his joints together. He wasn’t in any particular hurry as he shuffled across the carpet to the door to answer it. “Heya, Cap’n.”

Undyne frowned at him, quirking an eyebrow. He had to give her credit for dressing in a thick coat, for once. “You look like crap,” she said, stepping back so he could exit the room.

Sans’s smile twitched. “I, uh, wasn’t aware this was a fashion show,” he retorted, slipping out and shutting the door.

“You gonna tell me this lead, then?” she asked, lowering her voice.

“Talk to Papyrus first.” The lights in Sans’s eyes flicked over to his brother’s door. “He still trusts you. If we can get through to him, I might be able to get it out of him.”

Though Undyne gave him an odd look, she complied, turning to approach Papyrus’s door instead. Sans followed her quietly, hanging a bit farther back as she knocked. “Hey, Papyrus! Open up, ya doof.”

No answer.

Undyne’s facial fins drooped briefly, but she knocked again. “Papyrus?”

Still no answer.

When she looked back at him, Sans shrugged helplessly. “He never locks his door. Go ahead.”

Biting her lip carefully, Undyne opened the door and stepped in. “Papyrus?”

Sans leaned against the wall, shutting his eyes. Once Undyne broke the ice, he’d step in.

There was a few seconds of silence, then: “Well, where is he?”

Bolting upright, Sans darted into the room. Undyne was standing in the middle, looking around in confusion. The holiday lights were plugged in and twinkling and the bed had some drawing materials sitting on it, but Papyrus was nowhere to be found.

“Oh, I got it,” Undyne said, with a smile that didn’t look quite as relieved as it should. She strode over to the closet door and threw it open, looking ready to grab a skeleton that might fall out.

Nothing but clothes.

A chill seized Sans’s spine, and he spun around, scrambling down the stairs and nearly tripping. “Papyrus!” he called, looking frantically around the living room before rushing to the kitchen. “ _Papyrus_!”

Undyne was quick to follow, stomping down the stairs and checking the closet beneath them. “PAPYRUS!”

The kitchen was empty, and Sans was going to be sick. He staggered out of the room and nearly bumped into Undyne.

“Where the heck is—” She faltered, staring at him in shock.

It took him a moment to notice the blue and yellow lights bouncing off of her scales in the darkened room, and Sans growled, forcing his magic to calm. Rather than his eye lights returning, his sockets went dark entirely. “Where _is_ he?”

The front door opened, and both of them snapped their heads over to see the two Royal Guards stepping into the room. “Like, what’s going on, Capt—”

Undyne stormed up to them, and as enormous as the guards were, they both winced back at the sight of the enraged captain of the guard. “Did anyone leave this house?”

“...No, Captain Undyne.”

“And you were watching the _whole_ time?”

“Like, yeah?”

A thought struck Sans. “There’s a window in Papyrus’s—”

“CHECK THE BACK!” Undyne roared, and bolted out the door after the guards.

Sans followed, flinching at the harsh wind that greeted him. It reminded him of the storm from several nights ago, but it brought no snow with it. Struggling against the gale, he followed Undyne and the guards around to the back of the house.

“There’s like, no footprints?” RG01 shouted.

“The wind could have worn them away,” RG02 added.

Undyne’s fangs looked like they would shatter against each other. “Get me the dogs.”

“Like, which—”

“ _ALL OF THEM_!”

As the guards rushed off, Undyne approached Sans, her ponytail whipping in the wind. “What was the lead, Sans?”

Sans was struggling to fight through the numb shock that was threatening to overtake him; the thought that Papyrus had run away was too terrifying to fully register in his mind, and the idea that something even worse could have happened— _stay focused, stay focused, Papyrus needs you, stay_ focused…

“ _Sans_?”

He forced himself to meet her gaze, her yellow eye narrowed down at him. “Okay, you’re probably not gonna believe me, but I have strong reason to believe a talking flower may have done this.”

Undyne let out an expletive. “You’ve gotta be kidding me! Papyrus is out _who knows where_ and you’re telling me a _flower_ hurt him?!”

“I _know_ it sounds stupid, Undyne, but—”

“Have you been drinking again, Sans? ‘Cause if that’s—”

“Actually, no, I haven’t,” Sans snapped. “Would it kill you to listen to me for once?”

“No, but it might kill your brother.”

Sans froze, the feeling of the icy wind melting away from the _burning anger_ radiating in his skull and ribcage. His teeth ground and his hands balled as he glared up at Undyne, who was already marching toward the road.

“While you’re out chasing after talking flowers, I’m sending the dogs out to look for Papyrus,” she called over the roaring wind.

His eye was flashing, but he didn’t quench it this time. “You’re not gonna _find_ him if you don’t—!” His voice, unused to yelling, was carried away by the wind.

Magic roiled through him—his fury at Undyne and his agonized worry over Papyrus were morphing into an unnamed, nasty emotion that was very quickly threatening to show itself as a gaster blaster. But he couldn’t do that—it wasn’t going to help anything and Papyrus was going to get hurt _again_ if he didn’t do something—

Before he knew what he was doing, he was back in Papyrus’s room, frantically searching around for some hint as to what could have happened to his brother. The window was shut, which didn’t make sense—how could he have gotten out if he hadn’t opened the window? (Had someone else shut it? Had someone else come in _through_ the window?) The computer was off, and he punched the power button, hoping it might yield some hint once it booted up.

_Papyrus,_ he thought frantically, tapping his foot as he waited for the computer, _Papyrus, why did you have to run off? Couldn’t you at least have left me a note or—?_

He turned away from the computer for a moment, and his eyes fell on the sketchpad sitting on the bed. At a loss for anything else to do while he waited, he approached the bed and lifted up the sketchpad—

—and froze at the sight of a happy flower beaming up at him.

He knew that flower. He didn’t know how, but he _knew_ that flower, even though he’d never seen it before. This had to be—this was _the_ flower.

In one swift movement he tore the paper off of the sketchpad, and on a whim flipped through the rest of the pad, hoping for another clue to present itself—and not expecting to be _right_.

The sketch jumped out at him, startling him enough to drop the pad back onto the bed. Black, socket-like eyes glared out at him, gleaming over a too-wide mouth with too many fangs. Vines covered in long, threatening thorns coiled around the flower and framed the image. But what stood out to him was the shape of the flower and the petals—they were the same as the one in the sketch he held.

A wave of nausea washed over him, first at the thought that this thing had _hurt_ Papyrus, and then at the thought that _this thing_ had hurt Papyrus—this was the repulsive being that had dared laid a hand—a vine?—on his brother—

He ripped the page from the sketchpad, and, after a split second of deliberation, took a shortcut to his lab before he went to his intended destination.

 

* * *

 

“Please, _please_ , you don’t have to do this…!”

Flowey shushed him, tightening his grip on his wrists (tied against the tree) and ankles (anchored to the ground) as he tugged at the red scarf. At first he’d wondered if Papyrus had gotten a new scarf, but on closer examination, it was still the old one—it’d just been sewn back together. Boy, did he really care about it _that_ much?

“Of course I _have_ to do this,” he countered, bringing out another vine to help unwind the scarf from the skeleton’s neck. “It’d be really hard to do the next part with your clothes in the way. My vines would get all tangled.”

If Papyrus’s eyesockets had been wide before, they were enormous now  as he redoubled his efforts, struggling against the restraints and only succeeding in wiggling his hands and feet a bit. “NO!” he cried, tears forming at the edges of his sockets. “No, no, no no no no _no no no_ …”

He frowned in distaste at the sight. Honestly, Papyrus was too old to be doing this sort of thing. Flowey hadn’t cried in _ages_. “Don’t be such a crybaby,” he said, rubbing the fabric of the scarf into the skeleton’s eyesockets as he finally pulled the thing loose. “There! Step one, done! Now for step _two_.” Tossing the scarf aside (it was caught by the wind, and pinned against a tree opposite of them), he began working another vine up underneath Papyrus’s shirt.

Papyrus gave a strained noise, pressing himself against the tree, as if that would somehow magically protect him from the vine. “Wh-why do you want to do this, Flowey? Are you u-upset with me? I-I promise, whatever I did, I’ll make it up to you—”

“Of course you will!” Flowey giggled as he began to pull the shirt up over Papyrus’s ribcage and toward his arms, but paused when he realized the problem. “I mean, that’s what we’re gonna be doing in a minute.”

“I-I don’t understand!” Papyrus cried. His ribs made an interesting noise as the wind whistled through them. “What aaaAAAAA _AGH_!” His words degenerated into a shriek as Flowey tore his shirt off in one quick movement.

There! That was a simple solution. Boy, this was so much easier when he wore normal clothes rather than that pesky armor.

As he tossed the ruined tee shirt aside, he noted with amusement that he could feel Papyrus’s limbs tugging against the vines restraining them, _toward_ him rather than away from him this time—Papyrus was trying to pull his arms over his ribcage. “Aw, feeling shy?” Smirking, he flicked one of his vines over an uninjured rib, and relished the feeling of the full-body shudder it produced from Papyrus. “It’s nothing I haven’t seen before, you know.”

“B-but I don’t want…” He let out a whimper, shaking his head. “I-I thought we were f- _friends_ , Flowey…”

“Who said we weren’t?” Flowey tilted his head in mock-innocence. “I mean, here we are, hanging out together in the forest! That’s what friends _do_.”

“But you lied!” Papyrus managed to look him in the eye, though it was pretty clear he wanted to look away. “Y-you said that there was someone in trouble—”

“Oh, I wasn’t _lying_.” Reaching down with a couple vines, he fiddled with the knot on the band that secured Papyrus’s sweatpants around his pelvis. This prompted another shudder from Papyrus, who made a valiant effort to pull his pelvis away from the vines. “I mean, you _were_ in trouble—you couldn’t stay in that house all day! What good would _that_ do you? Besides, I think you’ve had enough time to yourself—I’d get lonely out here all by myself.”

“Y-you could have j-just asked me,” Papyrus stammered, shutting his eyes as he tried to adjust his position, sitting up further against the tree to pull his pelvis away. Honestly, what did he think he was going to accomplish? “W-we could have hung out—i-in my room! Th-that would have been fi-i-i-aaAAAH!”

Flowey had finally gotten the knot loose and was working at pulling the pants down—an action that would make his vines brush against Papyrus, whether he wanted to or not. “But I thought it’d be a nice surprise to bring you out here! See?” With a swift tug, he pulled the sweatpants down around Papyrus’s ankles, making the skeleton give a sharp whimper. “ _Surprise_!” He tossed a bit of snow into the air in lieu of confetti.

Oh, drat, it was still stuck on his ankles.

“No no no no _nonononono_ …” The skeleton was straining to move his legs again, probably in some feeble attempt to cover himself, like it made any difference.

Sighing, Flowey stuck a few vines through the pant legs and pulled, annoyed at the stretchy fabric. “Come on, Papyrus, don’t wear yourself out before we even do anything. You’ll want to keep your strength up!” Hmm, maybe the armor _had_ been easier than this mess. Oh well. With a bit of concentration, he formed a row of long thorns on each of the vines that were stuck through the pants, and shredded the stupid clothing.

“NO!” Papyrus wailed. “P-please don’t, Flowey, no—!”

“Oops! Already finished,” Flowey said with a giggle, tossing the shredded fabric away and looking over the now-fully-exposed skeleton. “There, isn’t that better?”

“ _NO_!”

“Aw, I’m sure you’ll change your mind! Just let me…” Retracting all of his vines other than the ones that bound Papyrus and one other, he flicked the free vine, and the thorns retracted as well. Wouldn’t want Papyrus getting hurt, after all. With a chuckle, he reached the vine toward the skeleton’s neck, and—

Several small bones formed directly in front of the vine, forming a little shield in front of Papyrus’s face and upper body.

Darn it! He’d forgotten he hadn’t worn down Papyrus’s magic this time, but he could figure it out. He feigned a yelp, yanking the vine away. “ _Ow_! Papyrus!” he cried, and the bone shield lowered a fraction. “You said you wouldn’t use attacks on me! You _promised_!”

“I-I…” A shuddering sob escaped Papyrus’s chest, and the bones melted away. “I-I’m sorry…”

“It’s all right, friend! Now, where were we…” Grinning, Flowey reached out to Papyrus’s neck again, only for the skeleton to jerk his head back.

“WAIT!” he yelped. “W-wait, wait, _wait_!”

Flowey frowned. “ _Now_ what?”

Papyrus was facing him again, and there was a gleam of clarity in his eye sockets. “Y-y-you never—n-never asked me… i-if I was o-okay with this,” he stammered, the faintest hint of a hopeful smile crossing his face. “Y-you never asked…”

It took all his willpower for Flowey to not burst into laughter. Did Papyrus _really_ think something like that would keep him from doing anything? That was hilarious!

But… it did give him an idea. Sure, he’d play along for now. “Oh, sorry! It slipped my mind.” Giving a patient smile, Flowey reached his vine over to Papyrus’s left hand instead, massaging it. “Papyrus, you’ll let me _play_ with you, won’t you?”

Papyrus looked him in the eyes, trying to look as stern as possible, but the stammer didn’t help much. “N-n- _no_ ,” he said, shaking his head firmly. “No, F-Flowey, I-I don’t want to do this!”

Letting go of his hand, Flowey put on a disappointed look. “...Oh…” he said quietly, frowning. He turned away, head drooping, but kept the vine raised near Papyrus’s hand. “That’s too bad.”

A shuddering sigh escaped Papyrus’s chest, and his breathing, which had been quick and panicked before, grew more steady.

“Boy, I was really hoping you’d let me do this! But…” He tipped his head one way, then another, still looking away from Papyrus. “I think I’ll give you a moment to _think it over_.”

Without warning, the vine snagged Papyrus’s left ulna and gave a hard _yank_ downward, snapping the bone.

The following scream was muffled into a harsh vibration against another vine that quickly shoved its way down his throat.

He’d give him a few minutes.

 

* * *

 

“You _can’t_ be serious.”

“I’m sorry, Captain Undyne, but—”

_CRASH!_

There was a commotion of broken glass and yelping dogs as Sans shakily pushed himself up on the table. Normally he was more careful with his shortcuts, but now was not “normally.” He could hear Grillby crackling angrily somewhere behind him, but that wasn’t important right now.

“What the _heck—_?!” Undyne cried, reeling back in surprise. The dogs currently present in the restaurant—all but Doggo—whimpered at him uneasily.

“All right, Undyne.” Sans brushed some broken glass shards off of his coat and dug into his pocket, pulling out a couple papers and handing them to Undyne. “These are from Papyrus’s sketchpad.”

Undyne’s slit pupil darted over the drawings, and she frowned. “Okay, that’s weird, but it doesn’t prove—”

“Greater Dog.” The dog in question perked up. “Do you remember this?”

At the sight of the next object Sans drew out of his pocket, the dog winced back, whimpering.

“I won’t make you smell it,” Sans said in strained patience, still holding out the bag of loose-leaf tea, “but you know what it is, right?”

Greater Dog sneezed.

“Tell me, Greater Dog. Did you smell this on Papyrus yesterday?”

After a tense moment, the dog’s ears drooped, and he rumbled and huffed out something out that Sans couldn’t understand. He looked at Dogamy helplessly, and Dogamy winced. “He—he says he did, and he thought it was strange, because golden flowers don’t grow here. But he didn’t want to say anything, because Papyrus seemed very upset.”

Fighting the sudden urge to strangle the dog, Sans whipped his head around to Undyne. “See?”

Undyne’s fins twitched. “Maybe he got the scent from something else.” She shrugged helplessly. “You can’t honestly expect us to believe—”

“Hang on. Lesser Dog?”

The dog’s neck stretched slightly, his tail wagging.

“I need your help, pal.”

 

* * *

 

Flowey’s petals waved to and fro as he bobbed his head, humming. It was a tune his mother used to hum to him a lifetime ago, usually to help him sleep, but he had put it to a more upbeat tempo. He couldn’t sleep in his current state, of course, but he didn’t want to lull himself into a doze while he waited for Papyrus to make up his mind.

Papyrus! That’s right. It had surely been a few minutes by now, hadn’t it? He couldn’t feel him screaming into the vine anymore—now his breathing was deep and shaky—so it had probably been long enough.

When he turned to look at the skeleton again, he found his eyes wide and unseeing, tear stains streaking down his cheeks and jaw. But he probably wasn’t unconscious—that should have hurt a lot, but not quite enough to knock him out.

“All right, that’s enough of that,” Flowey said gently, grasping both sides of the broken bone with a couple vines.

Immediately Papyrus snapped back to life, his hand seizing up and a weak moan escaping his chest. He shut his eyes, turning his head away from the broken bone and whimpering.

“Just hold still, now. Three, two—”

In one swift movement he set the bone and applied healing magic to it, sealing it back together. Papyrus gave a sharp yelp at the sensation, then hung limp against his restraints. Maybe now he’d be a bit more cooperative.

“There now, that’s better!” Smiling, Flowey pulled his vine out of Papyrus’s mouth and hooked it around his jaw, moving his head until he was facing him. “Now that you’ve had some time to think it over, what do you say? Want to have some fun?”

Papyrus’s breathing was shaky and his gaze was still a little unfocused, but after swallowing a couple times, he managed to look into Flowey’s eyes. “N… no,” he whispered, shaking his head just a little.

Wow.

Flowey blinked at him once, twice, but Papyrus’s expression was firm—or as firm as he could manage at the moment, anyway. “You sure?”

Papyrus gave a weak nod.

Heaving a sigh, Flowey turned away again. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the skeleton wince, turning his head away and clenching his left hand. “Well… okay,” Flowey said, shrugging his main stem as best as he could. “I’ll let you think over it some more.”

He felt Papyrus tense under his restraints, and resisted the urge to giggle. Whipping a vine up into Papyrus’s ribcage, he grabbed one of the lowermost ribs, and _yanked_.

The second vine was down his throat again, drowning the hoarse screams.

 

* * *

 

They were back behind Sans’s house again, staring up at Papyrus’s window. The guards and dogs were muttering to each other, but Sans pulled Lesser Dog away from the others, toward the house, and held the tea bag out to him. “Smell this, okay?”

The dog sniffed the tea, then panted, his neck stretching upward a foot.

With a strained smile, Sans patted the dog on the back. “Now, I need you to be a _big_ help to me, okay, buddy?”

Lesser Dog yipped, his neck stretching higher and higher as Sans continued to pat him. Once he was level with Papyrus’s window, Sans drew his hand away.

“Now smell up there!”

After snuffling around the windowsill, the dog suddenly gave a loud bark, staggering back as his neck shrunk to its original size. Dogaressa rushed up to catch him before he fell backward.

“Well?” Sans already knew the answer, and fought to keep his eye from flashing as his magic pulsed through him.

“Lesser Dog says it’s faint, but the same scent was left up there.”

Sans let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding.

“...Okay, so you _are_ onto something,” Undyne admitted, scratching the back of her head.

He whipped around to face her. “Have you checked with Alphys?”

“Yeah. She said one of her cameras picked up a visual of him crossing the bridge, but she lost him after that.”

“We can find him in the forest, then,” Sans said, looking around at the dogs and Royal Guards that were staring at him. His magic was rushing again, but he felt hopeful, now—he had proof of who was hurting Papyrus, and now the dogs could track him, and he could get to him before something happened— “If not Papyrus, then the thing that’s been hurting him. If we hurry—”

“Th-there’s a problem with that,” Dogamy said, taking an uncertain step forward. “His footprints were covered, and…” He turned to his wife, and hung his head.

“...The wind is blowing _toward_ the forest,” Dogaressa finished. “We can’t track him.”

Sans’s eye lights winked out.

 

* * *

 

“Papyrus.” Flowey nudged the skeleton’s shoulder. “Pap _yyyyrus_.”

Moaning, Papyrus tried to flinch away, only to whimper again as the movement jostled his broken rib, which had snapped roughly in half. He was constantly shaking, and Flowey could pick up an additional faint vibration against the vine that was shoved down his throat—probably a strained noise of some sort—and every so often he would give a pained gasp, only to follow it up with a shrill whimper.

Idiot. He didn’t _have_ to breathe.

It was pretty funny to watch at first, but now it was getting old. He didn’t even warn him this time—he stuck a few vines around the broken part of Papyrus’s ribcage and roughly shoved the bones back together. Papyrus might have screamed, but it was hard to tell with the vine currently choking him. With a bit of healing magic, the rib was sealed back in place, and Flowey retracted the vines again.

“There, now, isn’t that better?” Flowey asked, giving Papyrus a gentle smile. “How are you feeling?”

Much to his amusement, his question elicited a _glare_ from the skeleton—or a valiant attempt at one, anyway. Maybe he had a rebellious streak in him after all!

For a moment, Flowey looked him over, debating on what to break next should Papyrus refuse his offer, but already he was getting tired of this game. Besides, if he kept this up, he’d probably wear Papyrus out completely, which was something he’d been wanting to avoid this time. But how should he… _oooh_ , that’s it!

Grinning, Flowey hooked a vine around Papyrus’s right clavicle, giving it a gentle, experimental tug. Papyrus sucked in a gasp of air, shutting his eyes again, but Flowey only chuckled softly. “Now, now, I’m sure you’re tired of this, right?” he asked.

Now Papyrus opened his eyes, expression vaguely hopeful. “Y-yes…” His voice had gone all scratchy. That was interesting—Flowey hadn’t used thorns. Could skeletons wear out their voice even when they lacked throats?

“So I was thinking… would you like to do something else instead?” Flowey waited a moment, tilting his head, then gave the clavicle a gentle pull again. “Or go back to this?”

“N-no!” Papyrus gasped. “N-no, don’t do that again, please, d-don’t…!”

“Okay!” He pulled the vine away, holding it up. “I’ll stop, then.”

Papyrus let out a deep breath, slumping against his restraints. “Th-thank you!” he said, eyes shining with relief. “C-can… can I go home, now?” His limbs tugged at the restraints weakly. “I-I think we’ve… b-been out here long enough, Flowey.”

“Hmmmm.” Flowey touched a vine to his mouth, seeming to think it over, then grinned. “Not yet!”

Without warning, a vine sprouted directly between Papyrus and the tree he was lying against, swiping up his bare spine. It had been almost a literal pain working that vine past all the tree roots, but it was worth it to see the look of horrified shock on Papyrus’s face as his spine arched painfully away from the touch.

“ _NO_!” Papyrus wailed, pulling against his restraints with renewed energy as the vine stroked up and down over his vertebrae, flicking over the spinous processes. “NO, FLOWEY! _PLEASE_! I DON’T WANT TO DO THIS!”

“Yeah you do, silly!” He waved a vine dismissively at him. “You said you wanted to do something else, so that’s what we’re doing now!”

Fresh tears were spilling down Papyrus’s cheeks now—a pathetic sight for a full-grown skeleton. Then again, this whole situation was pretty pathetic for a full-grown skeleton anyway. “Y-y-you tricked me!” he stuttered out, body racking in a heavy shudder when the vine stroked across his jaw.

_Of course I did, you gullible idiot._ “Psh, no I didn’t! I did exactly what you told me to.” Experimentally he began to wrap his vine around the skeleton’s spine, trying to see if he could weave it around through his ribcage and have the whole spine bundled up. He didn’t know if it would cause his magic to react in the way he wanted, but it was still interesting to do. In any other timeline where he’d really messed with Papyrus, he’d only ever broken him and hurt him; he’d never really tried playing with his body in different ways. Not until now, anyway.

As the vine weaved in and out between the ribs and around the spine, Papyrus’s body went limp and his expression went blank. Flowey wondered if he’d passed out, but that couldn’t be. If he focused, he could feel the magic rushing through Papyrus’s bones, more and more as he continued to touch him. Frowning, he tightened his grip on the skeleton’s spine and gave it a brief jerk—not hard enough to break anything, but enough to hurt.

Papyrus gave a hoarse scream, but his eye sockets came into focus again, giving Flowey a look of fear and pleading. “F-Flowey, th-this isn’t right,” he stammered as the vine slowly unwound from him. “F-friends don’t… don’t _do_ this to each other!”

Flowey frowned this time, moving closer to Papyrus’s face. The skeleton leaned away until he was flush against the tree, and gave a strained whimper as the vines entered his ribcage, lightly tickling the underside of the ribs. Just brushing against them—not anything harsh. “Friends do things to make each other feel _nice_ ,” Flowey growled, his face morphing into something a bit more angry and bitter of its own accord. “And _you_ sure aren’t making me feel nice about anything right now, Papyrus.”

Not that it was possible for Flowey to feel nice—or warm, or relaxed, or happy—about anything, anyway. Not having a soul did that to a person. It wasn’t, he supposed, entirely fair to blame Papyrus for that.

But then, life hadn’t been entirely fair to Flowey.

Papyrus was still trying to pull away from the vines within his ribcage, his right hand tugging against the restraints (his left one was still, since it was probably still hurting), but tried very hard to keep his gaze on Flowey. “I-I-I’m s— _nngggh_ —sorry,” he stammered, voice hitching whenever a vine brushed against an injured rib. “I-I really am! I-I want t-t-to help you…”

Flowey backed away. “Then stop whining and complaining when I’m doing you a _favor_.”

“B-but y-you said y-you wanted me t-to feel n-n-n…” He choked on the word as one vine nudged the rib it had broken a few minutes ago. Finally he sucked in a breath and stared at Flowey desperately. “I-it doesn’t feel nice, i-it doesn’t feel nice at all, I-I don’t like this, please—”

“Oh?” Pulling his vines away from Papyrus’s ribcage, he feigned a look of surprise. “Well you should have just _told_ me, silly!”

At first a look of relief crossed Papyrus’s face, but it was betrayed by the nervous glances he cast around himself. Huh, maybe he was growing a brain in that empty skull of his.

Flowey hoped not.

A vine shot up into his ribcage again, stroking the underside of his sternum, and Papyrus gave a sharp gasp, pulling back again. Flowey giggled. “Does _this_ feel nice?”

“NO! No no no _no no no_!” Papyrus’s screams of protest clashed with the faint pink blush that spread across his face. Admittedly Flowey still didn’t fully understand all this—how Papyrus was clearly feeling pleasure while also clearly detesting it—but he wasn’t going to complain. Still, he’d play along.

“Oops, sorry!” He pulled the vine away again, but Papyrus was still shaking and breathing heavily. This time he reached up, stroking Papyrus’s neck. “How about here?”

“ _NO_!” Papyrus shook his head and leaned it as far away from Flowey’s touch as he could, the vertebrae straining with the effort. “I-I d-don’t like any of it, Flowey!”

“Of course you do!” Giggling, Flowey stroked the vine over his head, then moved it away again. “We just need to figure out where you like it best!”

Of course Flowey had figured out _exactly_ where that was, but it was fun to tease him about it.

He moved the vine to Papyrus’s arm next—the one he hadn’t broken—and stroked the vine up and down it. Papyrus still shivered, but a bit less intensely than before.

“Um, y-yes,” Papyrus stammered, looking away from Flowey. “Th-that’s… g-good right there. Y-you can keep doing that!”

Brow furrowing, Flowey looked at Papyrus askance; he could feel the rushing magic within Papyrus’s bones slowing just the slightest bit. Quickly he replaced his annoyed look with a smile. “Oh, you don’t have to lie to me, friend!” He leaned in closer, moving the vine to Papyrus’s right leg. “I’ll help you find _just_ where you like it best.”

Almost immediately he felt Papyrus’s magic intensify, and now he could see it giving off a faint blue glow in the skeleton’s ribcage. Papyrus was obviously feeling it too, as his voice hitched into a shrill whimper before he began sobbing again. “No, no, _please_ Flowey, please, y-you don’t have t-to do this, I’m f-fine, I-I don’t need...”

Flowey let him ramble as he toyed with his femurs, poking at them and tracing them up and down. While he’d done something similar a few nights ago, he found himself feeling that same hesitation he’d felt that night. It was completely stupid, he knew—a childish, vestigial reservation.

It’d been a long time since he’d felt something like _that_. After all, he’d first felt it in his very first reset, back when he was looking out over one of Hotland’s many lava pools and starting to loosen his roots. It had come up other times, too, when he first realized he could get away with things because of his ability—when he began to realize how much he could _hurt_ people.

No matter what the action was—saying something unkind, spreading a lie, attacking an innocent, killing a monster—each time it was the same nagging feeling: _You’re not supposed to do that._

It was annoying, of course, but every subsequent time he performed each action, he grew more and more numb to the feeling. After all, what was going to happen? What did it matter when he didn’t have parents who could punish him, authorities that could jail him? What did it matter when, with a bit of concentration, he could take the action back entirely?

Trick question—it didn’t matter.

Just like it didn’t now.

Swallowing back any pointless reservations, Flowey shoved his vines into Papyrus’s pelvis.

Papyrus _screamed_ , the magic in his ribcage suddenly flaring bright as his soul flickered into view. Flowey was quick to turn his attention to it, continuing to work his vines around without watching so he didn’t have to think about what he was doing. This was _much_ more interesting, anyway, especially since the magic was so much brighter and vibrant than it had been a few nights ago. _This_ was what he wanted to see.

“S-S- _SAAAAANS_!” Papyrus screamed, then paused to pant, as though the action were the equivalent of running a marathon.Tears were still spilling down his face, which had flushed very red at this point. “ _SANS_! _H-H-aaaaaaaa—HELP ME_! Nnnghh…! I-I’M _SORRY_! I-I’M SORRY, _PLEA—_ aaaaa _ah_!”

For a moment Flowey wondered why Papyrus hadn’t done this the previous time, but then he remembered—he’d been gagged then. Ugh, he should’ve done it this time, too, but there was little point in it now. Not like anyone could hear him over the wind, anyway. “Save your energy, friend,” he said, stroking Papyrus’s jaw when the skeleton gave in to panting again. “You’re gonna need it!”

The feeling of the magic within the skeleton’s body was quite something—it reminded him a bit of being near the core and feeling the thrum of electricity and magic that it sent throughout the Underground—but much less intense, of course. This feeling, though, was stronger than it had been a few nights ago, and only continued to grow in intensity as Flowey worked his vines faster and rubbed around the front of the pelvis.

Still he watched Papyrus’s soul and the magic swirling all around it. It was so _pretty_! Objectively, of course—he knew if he’d had a soul, he would have been able to actually appreciate the sight. Speaking of souls, Papyrus’s was shaking and throbbing a lot, and the glow it gave off was rather sickly and gross, even when it was surrounded by the magic.

For a moment, he found himself wondering if Papyrus’s soul would crack before Sans’s.

Welp, only one way to find out!

In two quick movements, Flowey yanked his vines away, and thrust them back into the pelvis again.

Papyrus _lurched_ , his chest jutting forward as all the magic that had been gathering in his ribcage burst outward. It separated like many ribbons as it exploded out into the open air, then joined back together in a swirl, spinning and darting through the air in an increasingly frantic manner until it exploded again, separating into translucent, sparkling ribbons that faded as the wind carried them away.

Something within Flowey turned sour.

He found himself fuming, even as Papyrus collapsed against the tree trunk, heaving in shallow gasps that were occasionally interrupted by weak, stuttering sobs. Yes, it had been pretty, he supposed, for all of a few seconds, and then it was over. _All that work for a few sparkly shimmers of magic?!_

No, no, he was still missing something. Or Papyrus was—probably. Speaking of, he turned his attention to the skeleton, who was looking exhausted, but…

Humming softly, Flowey touched a vine to Papyrus’s shin experimentally. The skeleton shivered at the contact, but Flowey could feel something else…

There was still magic thrumming through him.

A wide, wide smile crossed Flowey’s face.

“Well, Papyrus,” he said, and Papyrus stared down at him dazedly. It seemed to take him a moment to register Flowey’s expression, and a look of horror slowly crossed his features. “Are you ready for round two?”

 

* * *

 

Sans’s magic itched and gnawed at his very bones, begging him to teleport, to summon a gaster blaster, _something_. But he had to save it—teleporting was useless when he didn’t know _where_ to teleport, and summoning a gaster blaster was pointless without a target. He needed to save every ounce of his magic if he wanted to be ready to confront…

His magic roiled, causing his eye to flash cyan-and-yellow before he forced it back down again.

Undyne, on the other hand, wasn’t even bothering to hold back her rage-in-magic-form. Clutched in a deathgrip was one of her magic spears, casting an angry glow on the forest around them as they ran.

The dogs had separated into two groups—Dogamy and Greater Dog in one, and Dogaressa and Lesser Dog in another—and were currently sniffing out other parts of the forest, doing the best they could against the opposing wind. Doggo had also been called and told to look and sniff around the sentry stations as much as he was able, for all the good it would do. The guards, meanwhile, kept watch by the bridge, should Papyrus return to the village.

At least Undyne was a bit better at seeing things in the forest than Sans was—she’d spent most of her life in the darker caves of Waterfall, and her single eye was more attuned to the darkness than Sans’s vision was.

“ _PAPYRUS_!” Undyne called, but even her shouting was carried away by the wind. With a deep growl, she pulled out her cellphone and jabbed a number on speed dial. “Al, have—”

Sans could barely hear the sound of Alphys’s stuttering over the phone, but judging by the tone of her voice, she still wasn’t seeing anything… and she probably wouldn’t.

“Keep looking!”

Alphys stammered out a reply, and Undyne closed the phone, shoving it back into her pocket. “Still nothing,” she growled, turning back to Sans. “And you can’t remember where that clearing was that you found him before?”

“No.” The Dogi had led him in a weird, looping path, making it difficult to figure out just where in the forest they had been. “I doubt they’d be at the same place, anyway.”

“Then keep moving!”

They hadn’t stopped in the first place, and Sans was almost tempted to argue with her over it. Silence would mean having to listen to that voice again—the one that nagged him at every spare moment, _this is your fault, Papyrus ran off because of_ you _, if you hadn’t been so stupid, if you hadn’t been such a terrible, impatient_ idiot _of a brother, he would probably still be at home, but now he’s probably just a gleaming pile of dust in the middle of the forest—_

“PAPYRUS!” Sans cried out, if only for his real voice to drown out the inner voice. “ _PAPYRUS_!”

The forest yielded no reply, and Sans tensed himself against the deep pain in his soul.

This really _was_ his fault, after all.

 

* * *

 

There were eight twigs on the branch on the tree opposite of him. It was difficult to count the others, since they were covered in snow, but the wind had knocked the pile of snow off of this one. He counted the twigs again, and again, then examined the angles they’d formed, trying to figure out what degrees they were, and what a puzzle would look like if he were to use those angles or numbers in some way.

He’d done it so many times now that the task had become meaningless numbers in his mind, but he tried to pour every ounce of his concentration into it, because breaking his focus away would mean—

A vine struck against the bruise on his skull, and with a rush of panic he was brought back to the reality of two vines on his ankles, two on his wrists, three stroking up and down the inside of his ribs, one rhythmically squeezing his lower spine, and more than he dared to count slithering in and out of his pelvis.

Intense shivers racked Papyrus’s frame and did not stop. The rattling, however, was largely muffled by the multiple vines assaulting him. He tried to breathe, but he felt like he was choking, even though he didn’t really have a throat or lungs or anything required for the action.

“Are you trying to _ignore_ me, Papyrus?” Flowey asked, looming in closer to his face.

“N-no no no no no…” he stammered weakly—it was getting harder to talk, and his voice hurt from screaming. He was so _tired_ on top of it, even though his magic reserves had yet to run out—he wished they would, he suddenly hated how much magic he had, he hated the fact that he’d trained with Undyne to give himself more stamina and greater magic reserves, all of his hard work was working against him _he just wanted to get out he didn’t want this—_

But Flowey had not stopped, not even after his magic had… had _exploded_ like that, ripping out of his soul, bursting out into the open air—he couldn’t really remember what happened after that until Flowey began speaking again and then _started all over_.

Everything was too intense. He felt like his bones—the ones that weren’t broken already—were going to shatter, like his magic was going to be torn out of him again and never come back, like his soul was going to split in two. Once or twice he’d tried to pull his magic back, trying to draw it into his soul again, but the attempt only left his body aching and his magic even more frantic.

On top of everything else, he was absolutely terrified. Flowey was building him up to that explosion of magic again, and he was afraid of what would happen—he was afraid that maybe he _would_ just burst into dust this time, or that his magic would be permanently gone, or that his soul would break. He had no idea how long this had been going on, but it felt like ages, and no one had come. He didn’t know where in the forest he was, and neither did anyone else.

With a rush of clarity he recalled the previous time—it was the same situation, and he’d been away from everyone else and no one had found him until it was too late and how could he let this happen again? How could he be so stupid?

...Maybe he _deserved_ this.

The vines in his pelvis began to move faster, and his whole body tensed as he felt his rushing magic intensify. All at once his worries returned, and unable to do anything else, he began screaming again: “SAAANS! UNDYNE! _HELP ME_!”

A vine darted into his mouth, grabbing his uppermost vertebrae and yanking his head forward. He gagged and choked, feeling sick as Flowey glared into his eye sockets.

“They’re not here, Papyrus,” the flower hissed. “ _I am._ ”

The vines moved faster.

 

* * *

 

In spite of the harsh wind rushing around her, she felt more relaxed and at ease than she ever had in years.

She was surprised at her luck.

First, the teenagers that had tormented her had disappeared from the forest. Then, she was able to see the fog clear enough to view the beautiful cavern ceiling high above. Now, she was picking up on the scent of very tasty plants—ones she’d only ever smelled once in her entire lifetime.

Oh, praise the angel for this night!

The snow hardly made a noise beneath her hooves as she strode through the forest, occasionally pausing to make sure she was going in the right direction. The scent was strong, however, and very clearly upwind. She might not have smelled it had she decided to stay closer to the cliffside, and she was glad she’d decided to be a bit more adventurous than her brethren.

But as she stopped to smell the air again, something made her pause.

There was a voice in the wind.

Her limbs tensed, her ears perked, and her pupils turned to slits. Few monsters would be out at this hour—no nocturnal monsters resided in these woods. Stray birds and other animals did, but those did not speak. If a monster were really in these woods at this hour, it was not likely for a good reason.

Her mind conjured up images of snowdrakes and icecaps, gleefully plotting some kind of mischief.

She wanted to run. She could easily bolt back to the safety of the cliffside caverns, even from here, especially if she gave herself a head start. But then… mischievous teenagers or not, she could still possibly outrun them in the dark. And there was still that wonderful scent, tempting her…

Well… Her limbs relaxed, though her senses remained alert. She’d already ventured out this far. She might risk a little more.

Onward she moved, though a bit more slowly this time, her ears swiveling as she listened for more sounds.

Sure enough, there were more, and they sounded vaguely familiar. She tried to recall the voices of the children and match them to it, but it didn’t sound right. This voice sounded older… perhaps it was one of the sentries or guards?

Yes, that was probably it. It made more sense for one of those to be wandering about the forest at night, and they never did anything to harm her kind.

And yet… something about this situation did not feel right. What reason would one of those monsters have to be shouting in the forest, if it weren’t for some sort of trouble? And on top of that…

There was something else—a feeling in the air, one she was not unfamiliar with—but that made little sense, so she dismissed it. But clearly something strange was going on.

Curiosity now drove her onward as she tried to make sense of this strange situation. It seemed to be close to the source of the smell, too, so this would all work out well for her.

As she drew closer, she realized why the voice was familiar: it was that sentry, the one she’d met a few days ago. While he was a little strange, he was far from unkind, so she had no qualms with meeting him again. But the sounds he was making… sounded distressed.

The sounds and smell drew closer, as did the _feeling_ in the air. It was unignorable at this point, but that made it all the more baffling, especially since there were clearly no other monsters present, otherwise she would have smelled or heard them. She almost wondered if she should leave—after all, it wasn’t exactly polite to walk in on something like _that_ —but nothing was adding up. If what she suspected was happening, why was it going on in the middle of the forest, and why was the sentry upset about it?

And why was that smell so _strong_?

Within another minute, she’d come close enough to the scene to find out, though she remained behind a tree, working through the situation in her mind. If she had come at a bad time, the monster (or monsters) would be too preoccupied to notice her, and she could leave quietly enough to avoid being seen. Certainly.

With that thought in mind, she stepped out from behind the tree.

The sentry was wrapped in lights.

Her two sets of eyes blinked separately, pupils narrowing into slits. No, they were not holiday lights—they were plants, writhing around within and without him. He looked very strange, and it took her a moment to realize he wasn’t wearing anything. The air was thick with a very specific kind of magic, but it was also thick with the smell of the plants… the squirming, writhing plants that moved as though they were alive.

Her mind was reeling in confusion—this made so little sense, and she wondered, briefly, if she were actually asleep and dreaming this up. But the smell of plant matter and the feeling of magic were too real to be anything appearing in a dream.

This was real, and this was danger.

Her limbs tensed again, muscles preparing to spring and bolt away from this situation, to run and not look back. If the plant—whatever it was—was strong enough to pin that sentry down, it would be enough to take _her_ down, too.

But…

Her eyes—first her upper pair, then her lower—locked onto the sentry’s expression, seeing his fiercely red face twisted in agony and dripping with tears.

This was not something he had agreed to.

Looking to the plants that wound around his arms and ribs, she shifted her limbs and tossed her head, feeling the lights that had clung to her antler and foreleg.

Drawing from deep within her soul, she focused on the plants.

Glowing snowflakes coalesced in the air, moving independently of the wind.

 

* * *

 

Papyrus didn’t know how much more of this he could take.

He counted the twigs for the thousandth time, tried to count the branches on the tree, looked upward and tried to figure out how many crystals lined the ceiling, looked back down—

And blinked to find that more branches had appeared on the tree.

He tried to make sense of it—had more snow been knocked from the other branches?—and then gave up and tried to count them, but as his eyes followed the branches, he found that they did not connect to the tree.

They were attached to a face, which was staring at him.

Suddenly he was aware of snow in the air, when there had been none before, and it was glowing and moving strangely.

Flowey noticed it too, because all of his vines stopped moving as he looked up, eyes narrowing. “What the—”

Without warning, the snowflakes dropped like hailstones, striking at the ground—no, at _Flowey’s vines_. Not one of them hit the fallen snow around them—each one struck at Flowey and left a deep gouge in his vines, as though they were doing it on purpose, as though they had been directed...

...as though they were _magic_.

Howling in unexpected pain, Flowey tried to retract his vines into the ground, swinging his head around in confusion.

“ _Sentry_!”

The deep voice immediately registered as that of the gyftrot—the one he’d helped before—but it didn’t feel real. One moment Flowey was doing… was hurting him, and then the gyftrot was here—?

Before he realized what was going on, the gyftrot was at his side, hooking her horns under the vines that were still within him and pulling them out, eliciting a deep shudder from him. “Hurry, grab onto my neck. We must leave this place before—”

Her voice exploded into a hoarse yell as something rammed into her side, and she dropped. Papyrus recognized the white flash—the magic bullets that Flowey had used to attack him before. More of them were appearing in the air now, aimed at the gyftrot.

Flowey was attacking the gyftrot.

Flowey was…

He was attacking someone. He was hurting someone. Flowey had hurt _him_ , but that was—this was different, but now he was attacking someone else, that wasn’t right, he wouldn’t let him—!

“GYFTROT!” he cried, drawing into his magic. Much of it was gathered in his chest, still roiling and twisting, and he drew it out of his ribcage, shaping it into bones. Said bones trembled and wavered, as though they wished to take a different shape, but he focused as much as he could, using the bones to block the magic bullets.

Out of the corner of his eye socket, he could see Flowey reel back in surprise before reaching up with his vines no no _no no, no you don’t_ —!

With an angry cry, Papyrus swung the bones at Flowey’s vines, striking them away from the gyftrot, who was staggering to her feet again. “Get away!” he cried—to her, not to Flowey. She was injured, and Flowey would attack again. “G-get help!”

One set of her eyes was shut in pain, but the other looked from him to Flowey, and the gyftrot stumbled away.

Flowey’s voice was shaking in anger. “Get back here you—”

Focusing with all his might, Papyrus drew a line of bones out of the ground, striking at the vines that were poised to attack. Flowey shouted in pain, and Papyrus’s own bones rattled, as did his magic bones—it was hard to maintain attacks when his magic wanted to take a very different form—before they finally burst into shimmers of gray-blue.

He couldn’t do it—he couldn’t maintain any more attacks, but that was okay, that was all right, the gyftrot had gotten away, but he tried to focus on Flowey, tried to stand, tried to glare at him through his exhaustion and pain. “Y-you hurt her!” he cried. Flowey regained his focus on him as he started to push himself to his feet, fighting to make his exhausted, sore limbs cooperate. “Sh-she was trying to help me, and you hurt her! Wh-why would you—”

Another vine shot out of the ground, grasping his neck and yanking him back down. Papyrus gagged, clawing at the vine, but two more snagged his wrists, pulling them away, and his ankles again, and his spine—

“Papyrus, Papyrus, _Papyrus_.” Flowey rose out of the ground, pulling himself higher and higher, and even though he was smiling he looked so, so _angry_ that Papyrus had to look away. “I think you’re missing the most important thing, here.”

Papyrus wasn’t entirely sure what he was missing or what Flowey was even going to do now, but he decided very firmly that he did not _want_ to know, and shut his eyes.

That was the wrong answer, and Flowey grasped his jaw, yanking it until Papyrus’s head turned and his eyes focused on him.

“You told me you wouldn’t hurt _me_ ,” Flowey said, a very strange smile splitting his face. “But since you decided to do that anyway, I guess it’s _only_ fair that I do the same, huh?”

His breathing quickened, his chest heaving in great gulps of air as he tried to figure out—and at the same time, _avoid_ figuring out—what Flowey was talking about.

Slowly he became aware of an annoying prickling feeling at his neck, and wrists, and spine, and ankles. But the feeling grew more intense, growing from an annoyance to a pain and something was digging into him, stabbing into his bones, shoving itself into the sensitive spaces and discs between his joints and vertebrae—

The vines were covered in thorns, and Papyrus howled.

Flowey stared down at him for a good long while, poised like a streetlight hanging above him. Through his pain, Papyrus managed to meet Flowey’s gaze, and with renewed horror he recognized that look in Flowey’s darkened eyes:

Cold, insatiable curiosity.

Flowey himself did not move, but the rest of him did. More vines rose out of the ground, each of them bearing the same long, sharp thorns.

Finally, Flowey tilted his head. “Should we get back to where we left off, friend?”

Papyrus’s soul turned to ice.

“ _SANS! UNDYNE! **HELP!**_ ” he screamed, and the vines reached for him.

“ ** _SAAAAAAANS!_** ”

 

* * *

 

Sans didn’t know how much more of this he could take.

It didn’t matter how far they walked—every inch of this forest was looking the same. He could have sworn they were going in circles, passing the same trees, snow drifts, brush. More than once Undyne had called Alphys and the guards for more status reports, but everything had turned up negative. The forest was big, and the wind was working against them, even though it was gradually lessening in intensity.

Any number of terrible things could have happened by now, and for lack of anything else to do, Sans’s mind had been ruminating on each of them, as much as he tried not to. But it didn’t matter which of them was true, if any—what mattered was that _nothing_ good was happening to Papyrus right now, and Sans could not find him.

When was this nightmare going to _end_?

Shaking his head, he tried to bring his focus back to the search. Undyne was a few strides ahead of him (he had to push himself to keep up with her), but if she’d seen something by now, she would have said so. The forest around him was as dim and cold and empty as ever, and the wind was still making that whistling noise through the trees, alongside that soft crunchi—

He staggered.

“Undyne, stop.”

The captain let out a deep growl, whipping around to glare at him. “What’s wrong with—”

“ _Shut up_ ,” he hissed, holding out a hand and focusing.

_Crunch, crunch, st-stomp, crunch…_

Undyne tensed, readying her spear. “Who’s there? Show yourself!”

_Crunch crunch crunch st-stomp crunch crunch crunch—_

Something was moving toward them as quickly as it dared, and while the shape was hard to make out, the light from Undyne’s spear was gleaming off of two sets of eyes. Sans tensed, preparing to grab whatever it was with blue magic, when a deep voice cried out:

“ _Help_! Sentries!”

Expression softening, Undyne lowered her spear, and Sans blinked in confusion. The gyftrot staggered up to them, wheezing, and planted three of her legs firmly into the snow. Her left hind leg was slightly raised, and a quick glance at her side answered why: there was a deep, gray gouge in her flank.

“I got it,” Undyne said, stepping closer. She dismissed the spear, focusing for a moment as her right hand was wreathed in green magic. She held it over the gyftrot’s side, and the magic formed into shapes of fish and sushi, which darted into the wound.

Sans’s magic surged as he stepped closer to the gyftrot; if his eye was flashing, she wasn’t reacting to it. Undyne couldn’t break her concentration away from healing the monster to speak, so Sans asked the questions for her: “What happened to you? Have you seen—”

All four eyes focused on him. “Another sentry is in danger.”

Undyne shouted something, but he couldn’t hear it. All at once he had gone cold and energetic and _angry_ , his magic acting of its own accord. It surged out of him faster than he could call it back, and an enormous predatory skull suddenly loomed over them, blocking out the light-giving crystals from above.

The gyftrot staggered back fearfully, but with more ease than she had before—the injury had sealed. Undyne was shouting again, this time at him, but he ignored her, reaching up to the gyftrot’s shoulder as his gleaming eye stared into hers.

“Take me to him.”

Fear evaporating, the gyftrot kneeled down in the snow, allowing Sans to climb onto her back. He did so wordlessly, grasping her antlers for support, and she took off.

“WAIT UP, YOU IDIOTS!” Undyne called as she ran some distance behind, not truly meaning what she said. The gaster blaster followed in the space between them.

A few minutes afterward, Sans felt his phone buzz repeatedly in his pocket, but didn’t reach to grab it. The gyftrot perked up.

“The wind is calming,” she panted, and Sans knew what that meant. He didn’t have to check his phone to know what the messages were saying:

_Smells like flowers._

_Smells like bones._

“NNNNGG _GAAAAAAAH_!” Undyne roared, her voice sounding farther away than before. “THAT FREAK’S GONNA DIE!”

Sans didn’t speak it, but he felt it, around the ache of his soul and the pulse of his magic.

_Hang on, Papyrus. We’re coming._

 

* * *

 

_In._

Seven crystals formed a ladle. He’d wanted to create something like the one in Sans’s books, but he wasn’t sure it was the right number of crystals, or quite the right shape. Still, it reminded him of the spoon he used to mix the spaghetti sauce with, so that was good, right? Maybe Sans would like—

_Out._

Re-using a couple crystals from the sauce-mixer constellation, he could see another, two separate triangles—one from the end of the spoon—forming ears over an oval head. It looked like that character ALPHYS was always going on about when he talked to her on the Undernet. Maybe he could tell her about it when he—

_In._

That one! Right there! It looked like one of Undyne’s spears! Yes that was an easy one, but it looked cool! Undyne was always cool. She would think it was awesome, he was sure of—

_Out._

A box! He could form a box! It looked like Mettaton! The angles weren’t a perfect ninety degrees but it was close enough! If he could see more crystals in the ceiling somewhere he could probably—

_In._

Waterfall had a lot of crystals! He needed to go there sometime, take Sans and Undyne and maybe AL—

_Out._

But he only had these to work with now, that was okay, he would make do, he was resourceful—

_In._

There was a circle there, yes, and points coming off of it, it looked like Flow—no no no—

_Out._

THERE! He could connect a long string of them in a curve with some points and they looked like—no no _no—_

_In._

no he couldn’t do this anymore

_Out._

he couldn’t play this game anymore it wasn’t working

_In._

sans where are you

_Out._

sans help me please

_In._

please, _please_

_Out._

_help me_

 

* * *

 

The game was getting dull again.

The shrieks had been interesting to listen to for the first half-minute, but he gagged him after that; it was too hard to focus with the constant noise. After all, he needed to keep an eye on Papyrus’s HP, as much as he could, and apply a bit of healing magic every so often to make sure he didn’t accidentally go too far. This technique was a bit more… damaging than any of the others.

And besides…

While it would be nice to see the smiley trashbag stumble over his own brother’s dust, he could do that _any_ timeline. Right now, Papyrus needed to be alive, so the trashbag could see exactly how _badly,_ how _irreparably_ he’d screwed everything up this time.

They’d be here soon, he knew. He wasn’t really all that upset about the gyftrot—that had been a blessing, in fact. It was probably running to get help, which would mean the trashbag and whatever other sorry saps were following him would get here before things got too boring.

And they _were_ getting boring at a rapid rate. Papyrus had stopped reacting, though he remained conscious, and there was really nothing more he could do to get him to focus. He could break another bone, but it would probably just make him pass out from pain, if it didn’t kill him first. Oh well.

_Thumpthumpthumpthumpthump..._

Ah, there they were! Finally.

Giggling, he pulled his vines away and whipped them back into the ground—like many long vacuum cords retracting back to the base, smacking into walls and corners along the way. Papyrus, voice too worn to scream, whimpered weakly at the action. “Well, here they come. Have fun explaining this to them, Papyrus!”

With a friendly wave of a thornless vine, Flowey zipped into the ground, and Papyrus was alone.

 

* * *

 

Sans’s magic thrummed through his bones, his eye constantly flashing from the frantic magic. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been this energetic, this panicked. Even knowing they were on their way to Papyrus, he felt impatient—every hoof-beat was one hoof-beat too many, and it felt like they were taking ages to reach their destination, in spite of how fast they were moving. Undyne had fallen behind at this point, unable to keep up with the gyftrot’s pace, and the dogs had yet to send any more reports.

“How much farther?” he found himself growling.

“The smell of the plant is some distance off yet,” the gyftrot panted, “but the sentry is closer.”

It took a moment for the words to register in Sans’s panicked mind, but when they did, he gave a start. That flower was farther away from Papyrus now? Did that mean that Papyrus had _gotten away_?

For the first time in _ages_ , a spark of hope ignited in Sans’s soul. Maybe in a few moments they’d see Papyrus running toward them, and he could warp them all home, or to Waterfall, or, heck, even to the Judgement Hall— _somewhere_ away from this godforsaken part of the forest and into someplace safe, away from that monstrous plant he’d seen in Papyrus’s sketchbook. He could get Papyrus away, and then kill this _thing_ , and this nightmare would be over.

Everything would be okay.

The thought had started to calm his magic, soothing him, though his gaster blaster still trailed behind him. He’d keep that attack ready, but right now he wanted to hold onto that hope that Papyrus had gotten away. Part of him knew it was foolish—his hopes tended to get dashed far too often—but he wanted so _badly_ for something to go right tonight—

The gyftrot stopped, breathing heavily.

Sans sat upright, looking around the area they’d stopped in, hoping for a sign of Papyrus. But there was no tall skeleton rushing toward them—only a dark clearing. Frowning, he slid off the gyftrot, who was still heaving in deep gulps of the frigid air, too winded to speak.

Once he was off her back, he noticed the snow all around them—there were clear signs of a struggle, and, he noted with horror, scraps of clothing strewn throughout the clearing. His soul jumped into his throat, and he rushed toward one tree where a familiar red fabric had caught against the bark. He picked it up, examining it, and his soul pounded in terror.

Papyrus wouldn’t leave without his scarf.

Slowly he turned back to where he’d entered the clearing, and his every bone gave a jolt at the sight of a slender figure slumped against a tree trunk.

“ _Papyrus_ …?!”


	15. Payoff

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Try, try, try again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two months this time, isn't it? Oh dear.
> 
> Well, I hope you haven't lost interest by now. If you haven't thank you for being patient! Here we are.
> 
> A huge thank-you goes to my beta, without whom one of the key scenes in this chapter would be a bit of a mess.

He'd finally managed to break free.

He'd seen that shocked look on Flowey's face, especially when he managed to produce a slew of attacks—none he would hit him with, of course—and brandished them, aiming them all directly at Flowey's head. He'd said that he wasn't doing this anymore—that he was done, and Flowey needed to stop. Flowey had meekly withdrawn his vines, but not before healing him, and left.

It took him a moment, but he managed to get his clothes together, in good enough shape to wear again, and made his way through the forest barefoot. It would take him a while to get home, but he could manage it. Right now he needed to get to his room, and sleep, and then maybe tomorrow he would arrange to meet with Flowey again to talk about his behavior.

Flowey would apologize, he was sure. He would say he was sorry, that he hadn't meant to hurt him, and he wouldn't do it again, and they would go back to talking as they normally did. Maybe he could even teach him to be kinder, and be friends with other people, too. Like Sans.

"Papyrus…!"

At first he was surprised to hear Sans's voice in the forest, but he supposed it made sense. His brother had come looking for him, obviously.

"Papyrus, wake up, _wake up_ …"

What sort of joke was this? Of course he was awake! He asked Sans what he was talking about, but for some reason, the words weren't coming out right.

"I'm right here, Paps, you're gonna be okay, open your eyes..."

But his eyes _were_ open! Yet even though he could hear Sans, he couldn't see him from where he was standing… sitting? Why was he sitting? When had he sat down?

...Why was he sore?

Why was he hurting?

Why was he hurt—

_hurt_

why did he hurt, why did he hurt so much like a hundred of undyne's spears jabbed into him it hurt it **hurt** he didn't want to be back here why did he have to be back here

"Can you hear me?"

_i don't want to be back here don't make me_

"Paps, _please_ , look at me..."

He didn't want to, but he did, his hazy vision only registering spots—two? four? two?—before the image cleared, and Sans was staring into his eyes, his brother's own pupils small and dim.

That was all he could register before the pain threatened to overwhelm him, but he couldn't move, couldn't even shift his bones, and when he tried to cry out, all he could manage was a pained squeak.

_it hurts_

He wanted to retreat back into whatever had happened before—to where he _wasn't_ hurting, but he didn't know how. He didn't understand—he didn't understand anything anymore. He hurt in ways he didn't even want to think about, especially at his center—not his middle, not his spine or his ribcage, but at his very core, and the pain was threatening to destroy him, to tear apart his magic at the seams, to shatter his bones into dust.

Sans was still there, waiting for something, some response, some word.

_sans…?_

_my soul hurts…_

 

* * *

 

Sans stared into Papyrus's eyes, because he was afraid that if he looked anywhere else again, he would be sick.

Never in his worst nightmares had he seen Papyrus looking like this. His eyesockets, ringed in dark circles and barely open, were bad enough on their own, but the rest of him…

There were deep gouges in his bone—in what looked like _every_ bone—like he'd been sliced with a butcher's knife over and over, or stabbed with a spike again and again… Except it wasn't just the outer side of the bones—in fact, it was worse on the _inside_ , on the underside of his ribs, on the ventral side of his spine… on the inside of his pelvis.

His nonexistent stomach churned in sympathetic agony.

"It's okay, it's okay," he said, unsure if his brother could even hear him. Papyrus's eyes were open, but he hadn't said anything, other than making a few weak sounds. He fought the urge to give his brother's shoulder a squeeze—said shoulder was as torn up as any other part of him, and he couldn't bear the thought of causing Papyrus more pain.

More than he'd already put him through.

He hated that it had taken him so long to realize what was happening, he hated that he'd gotten here too late, he hated that he had no healing magic to speak of—

Healing—

_Stars, was he even going to make it until Undyne…?!_

Suddenly frantic, Sans cleared his throat, finding his battle against tears more difficult than usual. "Bro, I'm—it's going _tibia_ okay, all right? But I'm gonna need to look at your soul. Okay?"

Papyrus's jaw shifted a fraction, but no noise came out.

"Okay…" Sans took a step back, dismissing his gaster blaster and trying to concentrate his frantic magic into something useful. "Okay, okay…"

His left hand stretched outward, his eye flared, and finally, he activated his blue magic.

_1 HP._

_Magic reserves empty—_

Time ground to a halt.

His magic had long since released, but not before he'd felt _it_.

There was no mistaking it. He'd held his brother's soul with his magic enough times to know what it looked like. To know what it felt like.

And Papyrus's soul had _shifted_ in his grasp.

Not that it had moved on its own, but it had shifted, like a piece of fabric that looked whole until you lifted it, and then the tears became clear.

Time had started moving again at some point, because Sans found himself sinking to his knees in the snow around him, his soul aching… but not with a deeper ache than his brother's.

He stared at Papyrus's chest, his mind still seeing the delicate, dimly-colored soul, a thin crack beginning to form down the center.

 

* * *

 

Flowey shifted back and forth where he'd sprouted, staring at the ground in front of him. One vine was out and drawing patterns in the snow—a circle here, a curve there. He'd never been as good as _them_ , of course—they'd always been the more artistic one—but he could at least manage to draw a resemblance.

And for a little scribble in the snow, he had to say, it was pretty good!

There _he_ was, in all his ugly, filthy glory, standing there with big old tears in his sockets—he'd accidentally overlapped the mouth with one of the giant tear-drops, but oh well—and that infuriating grin _finally_ turned into a frown.

But it was missing something…

Perking up, Flowey stretched his vine out again and carefully carved a soul-shape over the figure's middle, and in two quick movements, slashed through the middle of it.

_There_ we go!

Of course, that was only a guess. He couldn't be sure _how_ the trashbag would react when he finally decided to show his ugly face here. And that would be soon, he knew—he'd moved from the clearing he'd left Papyrus sitting in, but not _too_ far. He had to let himself be found, after all—or if he couldn't be found, he could just come to them. Then, _then_ , he'd finally get to see how the game ended.

He already knew, though. He'd played everything just right—all the right little actions that would lead to a nice, big, ugly _crack_ through the trashbag's soul.

...Oh! Or maybe… maybe he could just die of a broken heart.

Boy, wouldn't that be something?

 

* * *

 

"The plant is not far from here."

His spine straightened with an audible _crack_ , and it took all of his willpower to not _howl_ at the gyftrot about how much he cared about the flower right now.

But he _did_ care, some distant part of him was keen to remind him, because if he didn't, that flower would just come back and attack Papyrus again, and again, and again—

Clenching his fists until his hands hurt, he forced all of his concentration back into the current situation. Undyne would be here any moment, but he didn't know if Papyrus would even last until then. What could he _do_ , though? He had no healing powers at all—nothing. He had no food on him, and he couldn't teleport away to get anything because he didn't know his way back here… which meant he wouldn't be able to teleport Papyrus away and still be able to catch that wretched weed and put a _stop_ to this.

"Sentry?" the gyftrot broke him out of his thoughts.

"Healing," he croaked, and heard her shift behind him. "Can you do it."

_Huff._

The gyftrot stepped into his field of vision, her head craning downward toward Papyrus. Her ears drooped, and another puff of air flashed out of her mouth. While two of her eyes shut, the top set was narrowed in concentration. Green magic formed between her antlers, taking the shape of a gift box, and drifted down to Papyrus's ribcage.

A shudder rippled through his body, and a couple of the gray tears in his ribs sealed up, leaving faint scars behind. He also looked slightly different somehow, like he'd regained some color, and Sans frantically pushed away any thoughts as to what that would mean. The ribcage heaved, and he shuddered again, a faint whine making it through his throat.

Teeth grit in frustration, Sans looked up at the gyftrot. "Is that all you can do?"

_Huff._

Another green gift box formed and settled into Papyrus's ribcage, and a few more wounds sealed. Yet already the gyftrot was sweating and panting with exertion, great puffs of air repeatedly whisping over her face.

"Healing is not my strong point," she muttered.

With a speed he wasn't typically known for, he shot to his feet, grabbing the gyftrot roughly by the antler. "You _can't let him fall_ ," he choked.

Pulling her antler out of his grasp with a swift jerk, she turned all four of her eyes on him, their pupils narrow. "Why do you suppose I have been trying to track the plant?" she growled lowly. When he answered her with a baffled look, she went on. "What reason would it have to leave the sentry here, if not to bait us?"

Sans gave a jolt, whipping his head around, panic surging through him anew.

"I am no stranger to _traps_ , sentry."

He swallowed dryly. "You think it's going to…?"

The gyftrot smelled the air again, then shook her antlers. "It is the same distance from us as before, but I don't know if that will change. We must be alert." She looked back down at Papyrus, and her gaze softened. "...I am sorry. I understand your anger."

Sans drew in a deep breath, trying to steady his mess of emotions—losing control wasn't going to help him, and it certainly wasn't going to help Papyrus.

...Papyrus…

Creeping as close to his brother as he dared, he crouched next to him. "Bro?" He fought to keep his voice from shaking, and reached out, taking hold of Papyrus's hand. At least that was unscarred. "Can you hear me?"

After a moment, Papyrus's head shifted slightly in his direction, and he could sense focus coming back to his eyesockets. The hand did not return his grip.

"I'm sorry I…" He swallowed, hard, to keep the sobs from bubbling out of him. "I'm s-sorry I let this happen."

A shudder racked Papyrus's frame, and he shut his eyes.

"He lacks protection," the gyftrot said, and Sans stiffened before she went on: "He has no clothing, nor fur of any sort. Should something be done to keep him from freezing?"

Sans shook his head, forcing a humorless laugh. "Skeletons don't freeze—"

_Stompstompstompstompstomp_ …

Two thoughts registered in his head simultaneously: Undyne was catching up to them, and Papyrus was not decent.

Hissing a curse, Sans tore his coat off and shakily set it over Papyrus's exposed lower half just as Undyne stormed into the clearing.

"Where's that son of a—"

Undyne froze, the cloud of snow she'd kicked up settling around her feet as she stared down at Papyrus. The yellow gleam of her eye stood out against the cold blue surroundings, the slit pupil narrow with shock.

Sans knew the feeling all too well. His voice shook. " _Please_."

The gyftrot backed away as Undyne dropped her spear and fell to her knees, reaching out toward Papyrus and muttering curses in a mix of horror and denial. " _Paps_?" she whispered, placing a hand on his shoulder, only to flinch back as he gave a full-body shudder and a quiet moan.

Yanking her hand back, as though she were afraid he would shatter under her touch, she looked him up and down, trying to assess the damage. Sans could see her eye flick over to the scraps of clothing that littered the clearing and linger over the coat he'd placed over Papyrus. A shudder racked her own body, and her voice shook with barely-contained sorrow and rage.

"What did it _do_ to him."

Sans couldn't speak; he only gripped Papyrus's hand tighter. Part of him expected the gyftrot to blurt something out in what seemed to be her usual blunt manner, but when he looked at the monster, he only found her hanging her head, her eyes staring at the snow.

He was sure Undyne had figured it out anyway.

Now her eye was focused on him, positively gleaming in hatred. For a moment, he swore he saw a flash of cyan underneath her eyepatch.

" _I'll kill it_."

 

* * *

 

He didn't care anymore.

Sans had read his soul, and he knew, now—and now _he_ did, too, seeing his brother's reaction. Seeing that look of sickened horror, seeing him drop to his knees in the snow after only holding his soul for a second. It didn't surprise him, with how much he hurt. Of course it would look terrible—feel terrible.

It didn't matter.

He'd already failed at everything—at being a good sentry, being a good brother, being a good friend… even protecting himself. Sans's look proved it; he was a disgusting, repulsive failure.

The pain was already threatening to break him.

At this point, why not let it?

As he felt himself begin to drift away into numbness—or maybe even into nonexistence—he felt the fresh sting of healing magic against his ribcage. It brought a few HP back and shocked him back into full awareness, bringing back all the pain with it, and he couldn't help but shudder, trying and failing to protest.

_make it stop._

Another touch of healing magic.

_make it_ stop.

He didn't want to keep going. He didn't see the point in it any longer.

Muffled voices around him raised in anger—over him, no doubt. Even when he could hardly move, he was still causing trouble—still hurting others around him. So why did they want to _heal_ him? Why did they want to bring him back?

He heard a voice at his side—Sans's voice—and something took his hand. Why? What was going on _now_?

With a great amount of effort, he turned his head, and saw Sans crouching by him. He was talking, and Papyrus fought to make out the words.

"...let this happen…"

He shuddered again, shutting his eyes. _i know, i'm sorry, i'm sorry…_

More voices, quieter this time. Sans let go of his hand now, and something covered his lower body. A moment after, he heard another voice, one he would recognize anywhere—Undyne.

She was angry, too.

He couldn't look at her, he couldn't, he couldn't face the shame of having to confront his friend and captain over his absolute failure. He didn't want to be here anymore, he wanted everything to _stop—_

Pain shot through his shoulder.

It was gone as soon as it came, fading back into a dull sting. If he had had the energy to, he would have been breathing heavily now, but breathing was not a requirement for skeletons, so he didn't.

He could hear her speak again—feel the rage behind her words, but also the… sorrow…?

Of course, she was sorry that she had ever trusted someone like him. Why was he so stupid, to think he would ever be smart or strong enough to join the Royal Guard?

Sans's hands were gripping his again, but something struck him as odd. You didn't grab someone's hands when you were angry with them.

...Was it _not_ him they were angry at?

As though to answer his question, Undyne spoke, and he could make out her words:

" _I'll kill it._ "

_It_. Not _him_. But who was an _it_? Who…

...who…

Horror shot through him, stronger than the pain that gripped his body and heightening the pain in his soul. His eye sockets were open and wide, his jaw stretched open as wide as it would go, his chest heaving as he tried to force out a sound:

"aaaaaaAAAAAAA _AAAAA_ —"

The hoarse scream broke off as soon as it started, and his chest was heaving again, his eyes wide and unfocused, but he knew they had to be staring at him now. He had to say something. He _had to_.

_don't do it don't kill him i can't be the cause of another person's death_

"D… don… t…"

_please don't kill him he can stop, i can't be fixed but he can still change_

"D-don't… ki…"

_please don't kill my friend._

 

* * *

 

Undyne's mouth gaped, the gyftrot's two sets of eyes blinked separately, and the lights in Sans's sockets had gone dim.

The first words Papyrus had said since they found him like this, and they were in protection of his attacker.

The three of them could only stare.

"...But we can't _do_ that!" Undyne finally cried in protest. "That creep is still around! He can't expect us to—"

" _Shhh_!" Sans shot a glare up at her, his smile curved into an ugly grimace.

She glared right back. "You _want_ to spare the freak that—?!"

He found his voice again, and it was a low, deadly calm. "I don't think we're in a position to deny his wishes."

"You're crazy!"

Shutting his eyesockets and drawing in a breath, he focused, mentally preparing himself—reminding himself what he would feel. He opened his eyes, one of them glowing cyan in focus, and turned his brother's soul blue.

Mentally he shoved aside the information the soul fed him, instead focusing on Undyne and the gyftrot. The captain's face went pale, and the gyftrot sucked in a deep breath and held it. Once he was certain they'd gotten a good look, he released his magic.

Undyne hissed a string of curses between her fangs.

Sans, meanwhile, shut his eyesockets again, gathering his thoughts and focusing, fighting past his sorrow and anger and pain. He didn't like doing things this way, but…

He opened his eyes. "I've let Papyrus down enough. I won't do it again."

"So what do we do," Undyne asked flatly, her facial fins drooping in defeat. "Just let the thing run free and hope it doesn't come back for him? For _us_?"

The gyftrot snorted, shaking her antlers.

"No." Sans stared down at Papyrus for another moment, and he reached down, gently squeezing his brother's hand. Part of him wanted to do something else—to draw him into a hug, to hold him—but he was afraid that if he did, he wouldn't be able to let go. "No. I won't let that happen, either."

With his other hand, he brushed his phalanges against something in the pocket of his shorts. "I have a plan."

Finally he looked up at Undyne. "Watch Papyrus for me, and heal him if you can. Make sure the dogs help once they're here."

Undyne's eye narrowed. "Are you kidding me? You want _me_ to stay behind, while your weak a—"

"I'm not planning on fighting," he said cooly. "I told you, I've got a plan." He then turned to the gyftrot. "Can you take me to the plant?"

While part of her seemed relieved, he did notice her stance wilt just slightly. Nonetheless, she nodded. "Of course."

"Okay." He faced Undyne again. "Give me about half an hour, or until the dogs get here. If I'm not back by then, leave Paps with them, and follow the gyftrot's footprints."

At that, Undyne looked a little less tense. "Fine." She shuffled closer to Papyrus, gingerly placing her hand over his.

Hesitating, Sans stepped closer to his brother again, carefully brushing his hand over Papyrus's skull, careful to avoid any bruises or wounds. "I'll be back, bro. That thing will never hurt you again."

Papyrus's jaw shuddered. "B-be… car...e..."

"...I will." Sans stared down at him for a few moments longer before turning to the gyftrot. "Are we ready?"

She nodded, kneeling in the snow.

He mounted her quickly, grasping her antlers. "Take me to it, and leave the rest to me."

"Understood."

And with that, she bolted.

 

* * *

 

Papyrus heard them leave. He wanted to call out to Sans, but his voice had stopped cooperating again. He had no idea what his brother was planning, but it worried him—what would Sans do to Flowey? What would Flowey do to _Sans_? ...What if Flowey did to Sans what he did to…?!

Something bright green flashed against his upper chest and neck, and he cried out—more easily than he had before.

"Shhh. Hang on." Undyne was making an effort to sound soft, but if he knew her, it wasn't going to last long.

More healing magic seeped into his upper vertebrae and ribs, making it easier for him to breathe and make sounds. His chest heaved, and he let out a moan.

"Almost…"

Slowly he became aware of his HP increasing in small amounts, and felt the wounds in his chest and neck sealing. He'd thought it wouldn't be possible for him to feel any more ashamed than he already was, but here he was, trying to hold back the whimpers and moans of pain that were starting to bubble out of him more now as his voice was healed. But even that didn't seem to help, as tears began forming in his eyesockets again.

"It, uh… must hurt, right?" she said, facial fins flicking. "Look… don't feel bad. I…" She bit her lip. "I cried when Asgore beat me in training once. ...A little."

In spite of how miserable, how awful he felt, he couldn't help the quiet giggle that escaped him, hearing Undyne being so awkward.

"Hey!" she shouted, voice rough. "Did I order you to laugh?!"

And immediately it was gone, terror quickly taking its place as he flinched away—he'd messed up again, he'd upset Undyne, he'd made her mad— "I-I'm sorry, Undyne, I'm sorry…!"

"Aw, dang it, I was just joking, Paps!" she cried, voice taking a softer tone again. "Agh, just… come here."

Before he could protest that he couldn't move, he felt Undyne shuffle closer to him, leaning her back against the tree. She grasped him underneath his arms—oh, it _hurt_!—and he gasped as she eased him up onto her lap. Pain shot through his pelvis and up his spine, causing him to cry out. "No, no, no no _no_!"

But to his surprise, he heard her unzip her coat, and he blinked when she pulled it around his form, keeping him tucked between her warm body and the soft lining. It was near-agony on his lower half, but then, so was sitting on the cold ground.

"It's okay, it's okay," she whispered, wrapping her arms around him, but not tight enough to hurt. "I won't hurt you, and I'm gonna make sure no one _else_ does either."

Another shiver seized him, and he shut his eyes, his mind swarmed with the thoughts of _he's my friend, but i hurt him, and so he did that to me, it's my fault, not his…_

He felt her chest heave in an awkward, forced laugh. "You're gettin' tears all over my shirt, dude," she said, carefully brushing her hand over his face. He hadn't realized he'd started crying again, and he was too tired to make himself stop now. "Ugh, I'm so bad at this…"

"I-it…" he stammered, staring downward at his own ribcage. While her magic had healed several of his wounds, he could still make out the faint scars they'd left behind. "I-it was… m-my fault."

"What was?" Undyne asked automatically, then gave a jolt a split second later. " _No_ it wasn't! Why would you think that?!"

_because i told him, because he asked me and i told him, because i hurt him, because i'm a bad friend, because it's what i deserved anyway…_ The thoughts filled his head, but didn't make their way out through his mouth. His soul felt both too heavy and too light and brittle for him to speak—like it would drop through his ribcage, shatter, or both. He tried to move one of his hands up to grasp his ribs, but couldn't find the strength to do so.

"Listen, Papyrus, that was _not_ your fault at all," she said, her grip on him tightening the slightest bit. He glanced back at her, and flinched when he noticed she was staring at his legs, which were uncovered. "What that thing did to you—it was—it's _unforgivable_. No one deserves that, especially not _you_."

To his surprise, there was a slight waver to her voice, but she seemed to be trying to hide it through sheer volume. "That thing is _sick_ for doing that! No monster in the Underground should dare hurt someone like that! We're not humans! We shouldn't be _anything_ like them!"

The glint in Undyne's eye made Papyrus shiver, and he couldn't stop—he knew she was angry on his behalf, but to see her looking like this, because of a mess _he_ got into…

"I'll kill it," she growled, yellow fangs bared, and Papyrus's eyesockets widened in alarm. "I'll tear that weed from the ground and stab it so many times—"

"U-Undyne, _no_!" Papyrus cried, tears spilling down his cheeks. "N-no, no, d-don't do that, please, please…"

A thick cloud of silence hung over them, intermixed with heavy tension. It took Papyrus a moment to notice that it wasn't just him that was shaking—Undyne was trembling, too, even as she held him against her body. Looking away, she wiped her face with the back of her gloved hand.

As she focused on steadying her breathing, she reached her hand over to him, gently stroking the back of his head, avoiding any bruised spots. Papyrus shut his eyes, fighting to ignore his pain and focus instead on the feeling of her hand brushing against his head, on the sound of her breathing, on the pulse of her soul—strong, protective, and aching.

"...Sorry, Paps," Undyne muttered, finally breaking the silence. "I'm no good at this. But…"

She shifted him slightly in her grasp, and he opened his eyes as she carefully unwrapped him from her coat.

"I _can_ do this."

Papyrus blinked, partially to rid the tears from his sockets, and partially at the green glow that wreathed Undyne's hand.

"I'm not a doctor or anything, but I can at least make you a little less banged up." She held her hand to the side of his face, and he felt the healing magic seeping into the back of his head and his jaw.

While he felt the bruises fade and the gouges seal, the healing magic did nothing to stop the pain in his soul. Even if his body healed, what then? He could never join the guard. He could never face Undyne as his captain again. Heck, he wasn't even sure he could go back to being a sentry. He would never get back to where he was before. He would never… never…

Pain jolted through his right arm, and he yelped. While the pain and pressure in his arm lessened, it didn't disappear entirely, and it took him a moment to realize that Undyne had grabbed him. He looked up at her, surprised to see her eye wide, her pupil narrow, and her lips drawn back, showing fangs.

She looked… scared?

"D-don't do that." She sounded breathless, and Papyrus wondered for a moment what she had seen. "I'm gonna make sure that punk doesn't get to you again, and your brother's gonna come back, and we'll get you out of this forest and to someone that can patch you up. All right?"

He hadn't heard the last part—the mention of his brother stuck in his mind.

_Sans…!_

"Wh-what… wh-what is Sans going to do…?"

At that, Undyne sighed, staring out into the forest. "I don't know… but he'd better do it fast."

Worry overtook him again—what if Flowey broke his promise and hurt Sans? What if Sans wound up hurting Flowey, and making Flowey mad? What if… what if…

Suddenly Undyne perked up, then leaned down to look him in the eyesockets. "Hey." Now she was donning an authoritative look, which was effective even when she wasn't wearing armor. "Time for sentry duty."

Papyrus blinked. Was she serious? "B-but…"

"I need you—" she readjusted him, sitting him up higher in her lap, "—to look and listen for the dogs. Don't go all—don't get lost in your thoughts. This is _important_ , sentry. Let me know if you see or hear the dogs approaching our position. Got it?"

She _was_ serious. He was so tired, and he didn't understand why she couldn't do it herself, but… the thought of letting someone _else_ down was too much to bear. It would take a bit of concentration in his current state, but… yes, he could manage it. "Y-yes, captain."

"Good." Placing a hand on his back, she began warming up her healing magic again. "Don't break your concentration for anything, sentry."

As Papyrus felt the healing magic seeping into his bones, he was tempted to think about his condition again, but… no, Undyne had given him a job, and he couldn't fail this one. Not again.

The forest was quiet, and the dogs were nowhere in sight, but he would watch for them. He would be a good sentry.

He had to be.

 

* * *

 

Sans's soul pounded in time with the hoofbeats.

It was taking all of his willpower to keep his magic in check—to keep another gasterblaster from forming, to keep his eye from flashing, to keep his absolute fury from eating him alive.

"S'getting… closer…" the gyftrot panted. Her speech had started slurring, and he wondered how long she'd been running around the forest tonight. It probably didn't help that she was carrying him around, either. He'd have to find a way to thank her later, once this was done and over with.

If it would _ever_ be done and over with.

The image of his brother flashed through his mind again—lying broken in the clearing, unable to move, hardly able to talk—and the idea of him being reduced to that, _again_ , set his anger boiling again, threatening to explode into offensive magic.

_Don't,_ he reminded himself. _The plan's gonna work. It has to._

"Are we close, gyftrot?" he asked, mostly to keep his focus on the task at hand.

"I-I… I thi—"

The world tipped sideways, and the gyftrot, suddenly some feet away from him, gave a hoarse scream. His mind spun, and he wondered briefly if she had collapsed and sent him flying, but he didn't remember her falling, nor did he remember hitting the ground.

He tried to get to his feet, and kicked at empty air beneath him.

He struggled to move his arms, and found them pinned to his side.

Slowly the world righted itself, and he felt his magic pulsing through him, cold, frantic, and fearful. He could see the gyftrot off to his side now, suspended in the air as he was by a series of vines beneath her, wrapped around her middle. Her hooves beat at the air, and she shook her head dazedly.

"A trap…" she croaked, her four eyes rolling. "A t-trap…"

"That's right!"

The high-pitched, cheery voice cut through him, smacking him in the face with _deja-vu_. He felt like he should know it, but he didn't.

But he did know _it._

He spotted it, now, bobbing around between a few trees in the distance. It suddenly dipped under the snow, only to resurface a foot away from him a moment later.

It took all his willpower not to cringe back from the sight.

It was a golden flower—he'd recognize them anywhere—but it had a face. Papyrus's sketch had been more accurate than he'd suspected, from everything to the number of petals to the way the stem carried the flower, and yet…

The drawing didn't capture—couldn't capture—the sheer _wrongness_ of the thing standing before him. The sight of a plant—not a plant monster, but a _plant_ —moving as though it were a living, breathing thing, as though it had a will… it made his metaphorical skin crawl. Especially chilling was the way the flower seemed to wiggle and shudder, like a child that could barely contain their excitement over opening a present.

And beyond that, there was something else—he could sense it, he could always sense it on a monster, and he could sense it on this _thing_ , whatever it was…

It had LOVE.

"Boy, you guys sure are dumb. I can't believe you thought I'd just let you charge right up to me!" It eyed Sans, its smile twisting into something mocking, and showing teeth. "Weren't you a scientist at some point, trashbag? I thought you'd be smarter than this!"

His first reaction, before answering, was to turn the thing blue. Even without reaching out with his hand to focus, he could still use his magic, but something was wrong—his magic found no focus anywhere within this being.

It suddenly struck him as to why that was, and he barely managed to suppress a full-body shudder.

In spite of the mounting horror he felt, Sans refused to let himself react outwardly. He kept up a fake smile, careful to keep it from becoming a grimace. "Yeah," he replied, keeping his voice as casual as he could. "Guess I've fallen a bit out of practice."

The flower's brow furrowed for a moment, but the look quickly faded. "Not that it matters to me!" it said, immediately back to its sickeningly cheerful demeanor. "I've been waiting to talk to you."

"Could've done that any time, y'know," Sans retorted, cocking an eyebrow. "I'm not usually very… _tied up_."

There was a definite flicker of irritation that crossed the flower's features, and Sans's grin grew a bit more natural at that—but only briefly, until he recalled just what this flower had done.

Suddenly the gyftrot gasped, flinging her head and thrashing her limbs. Sans turned to face her, and it took a moment for him to realize that the vines around her middle had tightened. He whipped his head back over to the flower.

"This isn't a joking matter, _smiley trashbag_ ," it growled. "Not unless you don't care about this meddler here." It paused, the corner of its mouth twitching. "Or your brother."

His body tensed involuntarily, and his magic roiled. Frantically he tried to correct it, holding back his magic and making his body go limp again, but it was too late; the flower was grinning widely in glee.

It was getting the reaction it wanted.

" _Yes_ ," it said, moving up closer to him. "You really _don't_ care all that much about your brother, do you?"

Sans forced himself to grin, even if he felt like doing anything but. _Don't react, don't react, don't react, don't react._

But it seemed the flower wasn't going to give up that easily. It extended its stem upward, higher than he had expected it to be able to, getting closer to his face. "Hah, you won't even deny it!"

_Don't react, don't react, don't react…_

"You _hate_ him, don't you?"

_Don't react, don't react…_

Finally its grin started to fade, and its brow furrowed. "...Yeah," it said, flicking its petals. "And like I said, you don't seem to care about this gyftrot, either."

The gyftrot screamed again, and Sans frantically whipped his head over to her. Her eyes were bulging now, but this time magic specks—snowflakes?—began to coalesce in the air.

"Oh, no you don't!"

The vines around him tightened, and his bones tensed, his soul beating frantically to maintain its single HP.

The flower kept its grip on him for a moment, looking him in the eye, then looking back at the gyftrot, who was staring up at him warily. "If either of you attack me, I'll crush the other. And for the record? _He_ has one HP."

The gyftrot let out a stuttering breath, her magical attacks melting. "T-terrible plant…"

"And _you,_ " it said, swinging its head to face Sans again, "had better talk, or I'll snap her spine."

So he did speak—two words, which made the flower smirk.

"Tsk, language!" it taunted, tilting its head in amusement. But the vines loosened on the gyftrot, just slightly, as did the vines on him. "But now that we're talking again, let's get back to business—tell me, do you hate your brother?"

He couldn't maintain the grin anymore, but he tried to keep his expression neutral, at least. "No," he whispered.

"Really! Could've fooled me. I mean, you did let him wander out of the house so late at night…" Before he could counter, the flower went on, drawing a vine out of the ground and tapping it against the points on one of its leaves, as though keeping tally: "Then you did nothing to help him, brought someone into the house without warning, tried to hide his failure from him just so he could discover it on his own—oh! And let's not forget how you invaded his privacy, sneaking into his room at night so you could pry into his _thoughts_." It tilted its head. "How _caring_ of you."

Fury boiled within him, and he couldn't keep from shaking. "Y-you were _spying_ on us—!"

"Yep! But hey, it's not my fault I actually _found_ anything. I could have been spying on you and found you taking _good_ care of your brother—or better yet, keep him from getting into this mess _in the first place_!" Alarmingly, its face morphed into something more vicious-looking, much like the second picture Papyrus had drawn.

But nothing was as horrifying as the accusations the plant leveled against him—all of them true.

But— _no, no, focus, Sans, it's drawing attention away from—_ "What about _you_?" he said, looking the thing in its dark, socket-like eyes. "Why would you _do_ this to Papyrus?"

At that, the flower's face reverted back to normal—or as "normal" as a living plant could look—and it gave him a sly grin. "Curiosity."

Rage bolted through him, his body going rigid. "That's _all_ —?!"

"Curiosity," the flower continued, "about how much you really cared about your brother. How close your souls really were. How much I could hurt _him_ , until all of that pain finally worked its way to _you_." It cocked its head. "The answer was more interesting than I thought. I mean, if your souls really were that close, you'd know what to do to help him, wouldn't you?"

It'd turned it around again. He knew it had, he knew it was trying to get to him, but he couldn't call it out on it—his mind was too busy vomiting up excuses as to why the flower was _wrong_ , because it _had_ to be. His soul ached, and he shook his head. "I _tried_ ," he croaked. "I tried everything I could think of."

"Guess you didn't think of what _actually_ helped. Guess you don't know your sibling all that well," the flower hissed, leaning forward and glaring into his eyesockets. "You can try all you want and _still_ be a failure. You can try, and try, and your sibling will only get _worse_ , never better. The failure is because of _you_."

He was trembling worse now, even as the vines held him. He wished he could hold himself back, but the flower would know, and it would hurt the gyftrot again. "...I-I can still help him. I can do everything I can—"

The flower burst into shrill laughter, throwing its head back, opening its mouth wide, laughing until tears rolled down its face and froze to its petals. " _Oh_!" it cried, wiping its face with a vine. "I knew you were a comedian, but that was _rich_!"

It faced him again, face twisted into a vicious smile. " _Everything you can_ isn't good enough." Suddenly it tilted its head, expression softening, and asked in a hushed voice, "Would you like to know a secret?"

It didn't matter if he answered or not, so he didn't; he had no choice in the matter, and the flower knew it.

So it leaned closer, whispering: "He _cried_ for you."

Sans stopped breathing.

The images flashed through his mind unbidden—foggy, but real enough—of Papyrus suspended in vines as Sans was now, the plant doing what it would to him, and Papyrus screaming and crying for him, his voice carried off by the wind, Papyrus—

He blinked, and jerked backward.

_Papyrus—_?!

It _was_ Papyrus, somehow, he didn't know how but suddenly he was seeing his face, inches from his own, twisted in agony.

" _SANS_! HELP ME, SANS!" and it was Papyrus's voice, exactly his voice, but Sans knew he couldn't possibly be imagining this—

It took him a moment to notice that his brother's face was framed in golden petals, and with a pained, sickened jolt through his middle he realized that it was the flower—it had taken his brother's face, it was speaking in his brother's voice—

"SAAAAAAAAAAANS!" it cried, swinging its head back and tipping it upward. "SANS, HELP ME, _PLEASE_!"

Cold sweat dripped down his bones, and he was shaking, he couldn't stop, his voice shook, "S-stop."

Tears were dripping down Papyrus's—its—face now. "S-S-SAAAANS! H-H-HELP ME! I'M SOOORRRYY!"

"S-stop, stop, _please_." He could feel the sweat running down his face now—was it sweat?—and his soul was hurting, it hurt, and his magic was boiling, boiling, acting of its own accord, and he couldn't stop, "Please, _please_."

"SAAAANS, H-H- _aaaaaaaaaaaah_ -HELP ME! PLEASE H-HELP ME! I'M _SORR-_ aaaaaaa _aaaaah!_ DON'T _LEAVE_ ME HERE! _SAAAAAANS_ —"

" **STOP!** "

A high pitched _whine_ filled the air, and Papyrus's face was gone, replaced with the harsh triangular face of the flower, illuminated by the angry glow of raw magic.

It didn't seem concerned by the enormous attack that was now looming over it, however. Instead of cringing back, its eyes flicked over to the gyftrot, who wheezed as the vines around her tightened.

Sans's form continued to shake in anger, in sorrow, in pain, in effort to quell the gaster blaster that was trying to release all of his emotions in one agonized blast. It took nearly everything he had, but finally the attack melted, fading into shimmering gray specks of spent magic.

He couldn't think anymore. The only thing registering in his mind was the echo of Papyrus's pained screams—screams calling out for his brother, who came too late to save him.

This was why. This was why he never, never tried…

...but it was also why he should have tried harder.

For Papyrus.

A vine touched his face, just beneath his eyesockets, and he flinched.

Pulling the vine away and looking it over, the flower sneered.

"Don't be such a _crybaby_ ," it spat.

His eyes had gone dark, and he couldn't see. He could hardly feel the vine grasping him, the cold air around him. The only feeling that was certain was the sharp ache of his soul.

"T-terrible plant…"

He heard the creak of its stem shifting. "Is that _all_ you can say?"

"You… a-are not without fault," she gasped. "The sentry's brother tried to help him… which is far more… than can be said of you…"

Sans's vision came back into focus, and he blinked up at the flower, which was now glaring at the gyftrot. "How would _you_ know?" it hissed.

"I saw you," she said, her chest heaving with the effort, "with the sentry in your grasp… abusing his magic… against his will... abominable…"

"Abusing? Pff!" It waved a vine dismissively, as though the gyftrot had not just described one of the most horrific acts that could be performed on a monster. "I was just _playing,_ is all! I wanted to _experiment_ , try new things. You'd understand."

The sheer flippancy in the way the flower spoke was enough to horrify Sans out of his stupor. He lifted himself as much as he was able, even as he was still bound by the vines, and watched as the flower lowered itself closer to the ground, and closer to the gyftrot.

"Y-you have… committed vile acts… you c-cannot judge… the sentry's brother…"

"Please. As if totally failing his sibling wasn't _worse_."

Sans's hands balled into fists, and suddenly he felt it—something _clink_ inside his pocket. It came back to him in a rush—the plan, he'd had a plan, this was his only chance—

"He would have done n-no wrong, h-had you not…"

"Yeah, yeah, so maybe I _was_ a little rough. But what do you expect me to do about it _now_?"

Finally Sans found his voice, and drew something out of his pocket while focusing on a specific spot on the ground. " _Go to hell_ ," he spat.

The flower swung its head back at him, staring in bewilderment.

"And while you're there…"

In a blink, he was out of the flower's vines and directly in front of it, yanking the cap off of the object and thrusting it forward.

"Think about what you've done, for a long _, long_ time."

 

* * *

 

"C-Captain! Undyne! I can hear them!"

"Huuuhnn…?" Undyne groaned, lifting her head and trying to make everything stop being blurry. If she'd had two eyes, she'd probably be seeing double by now. Man, what day was it? She felt like she'd been healing for _hours_ now, and she hadn't even gotten past his ribcage yet. How did doctors _do_ this? "What?"

"Th-the dogs!" Papyrus cried. "They're coming!"

"Oh… _OH_!" Her back straightened and _cracked_ —wow she'd needed that—and sure enough, she could hear the sounds of barking and howling, coming from two different directions and rapidly drawing closer. "You're right! Great job, Paps!"

"U-um…" He squirmed in her lap—an _extremely_ uncomfortable gesture as his bones dug into her—and let himself fall back against her chest and gut, shivering.

"S'wrong?" she asked, looking down at him in bewilderment, and blinked.

Oh, yeah. He was still kinda naked, wasn't he?

"Pff, c'mere." Grabbing the sides of her coat, she bundled him up with her again. Once she was sure he was properly concealed with both her coat and Sans's, she wrapped her arms around him. "I'd lend you my pants, but uh, I kinda got scales that can freeze off."

She made light of it, but she knew he really, really didn't want to be seen the way he was. She knew why, too, as much as she hated to think about it. The way they'd found him, his clothes torn and strewn everywhere, and the way Sans had had to cover his lower half...

To think that some sick freak was not only ballsy and repulsive enough to do _that_ to someone—and not just anyone, but to _Papyrus_ , the sweetest goofball of a skeleton she'd ever met…

Stars, she wanted to drive a spear through its _face_.

" _Captain Undyne_!" Dogaressa called, and Lesser Dog yipped behind her.

" _Captain_!" Dogamy's voice was nearly drowned out by a drawn-out howl from Greater Dog.

Easing one arm beneath Papyrus's knees (careful not to let Sans's coat fall out of his lap) and wrapping another around his body, Undyne rose to her feet, stretching her tired legs. "We're over here!"

Papyrus was shaking even worse now, ducking his head and hiding his face in her coat, as though he were ashamed. It was infuriating to see, especially when the skeleton was so rarely ashamed of _anything_.

Finally the dogs bounded up to them, sniffing around the clearing in concern. The sound was quickly followed by a series of loud sneezes from Greater Dog, who began to back away, tail between his legs. Papyrus gave a jolt at the noise.

Undyne might have shushed him gently, but the poor guy was already embarrassed enough, so she opted to hold him a bit more tightly to her chest. "It's all right, Greater Dog," she said instead, looking over at the whimpering guard. "You can keep away from the smell if you need to. We've already got Papyrus here."

Dogamy turned from his work of inspecting the area, eagerly facing Undyne. "Papyrus is safe?"

Facial fins twitching, Undyne stared down at the skeleton in her arms. "He is, now."

She looked up, spotting Lesser Dog sniffing over some torn scraps of clothing on the ground. The guard's ears drooped, and he whimpered as he gathered up the clothing.

The dogs might not've looked like much, but they were in the guard for a reason. Lesser Dog was looking from the scraps in his arms to Papyrus, while Greater Dog, a distance off, gave a whimper that had nothing to do with his aching nose. Meanwhile, Dogamy came closer, looking down at Papyrus.

"How are you feeling, sentry?" he asked.

Papyrus shifted in her grasp. "Th-the Gr…eat..." he started, then swallowed. "I-I've felt better."

_Stars,_ listening to the way he talked made her want to suplex something.

"Smells like flowers," Dogaressa called, drawing everyone's attention to her. She pointed westward, in the same direction Sans and the Gyftrot had taken however long ago. "That way!"

"All right, guys," Undyne called, readjusting her grip on Papyrus. "Sans had some kinda plan, and he went ahead of me. We're gonna follow that flower, and take it from there." The skeleton tensed in her arms, and she added, "But _no_ attacking it, all right?"

At that, the dogs looked amongst each other in confusion, but none of them dared question their captain's orders. "Understood!"

An idea struck her, and she faced one of the Dogi. "First… Dogamy?" The dog looked to her. "Gimme your cloak."

The dog took said cloak off without hesitation; he wore leather armor beneath the cloak, and that in combination with his fur would keep him warm enough. Since Undyne's arms were full, he draped it over her shoulder.

When Undyne was sure the cloak wouldn't drop off, she rushed out of the clearing and out of the dogs' view, easing Papyrus out of her coat and into a standing position. She kept him supported with one arm around his shoulders, and he barely managed to keep a hold of Sans's hoodie. His legs shook badly, and she could hear a strained whimper coming from his throat, so she tried to make it fast. "Here, Papyrus," she whispered, draping Dogamy's cloak over him. It was a bit short for him, only going down to his knees, but it did its job well enough.

She caught a look of relief in Papyrus's eyesockets, and felt her own soul lighten a little at that. "Th-thank you, Undyne," he whispered, and she grinned, scooping him up again.

Once they were back in the clearing, she whistled for Greater Dog, who approached with some amount of hesitation. "Okay, big guy, I need you to stay behind and watch Papyrus—"

" _No_!" Papyrus cried, struggling slightly in her grasp. "N-no, I-I need… to s-see Sans, a-and…"

"We can't take you with us, Paps!" Undyne said. "What if that thing tries to hurt you again?"

Lesser Dog yipped something, and Greater Dog huffed in agreement.

"It could come back here," Dogaressa translated. "Papyrus would be safer with all of us, rather than one."

Undyne grit her teeth. "Ugh, hadn't thought of that…" She stared down at Papyrus. "You sure about this?"

To her surprise, Papyrus looked away. "N-no. But… I-I have to… m-make sure S-Sans is…"

She couldn't blame him, but she hoped she wouldn't regret this later. "Okay. Hang on tight!" Looking up, she faced the rest of the guard. "Let's _go_!"

With that, Undyne charged after the dogs, who bounded ahead, following the tracks of the gyftrot and the scent of the flower. Papyrus gripped her coat with as much strength as he had, his sockets shut tight. Undyne glanced down at him before focusing on the path ahead.

_All right, Sans… you'd_ better _still be alive, for Papyrus's sake, or I'm gonna kill you._

 

* * *

 

Well, the smiley trashbag caught him off guard.

Flowey saw the cyan magic coming at him quicker than he could react, and cringed back as it hit his stupidly-gaping mouth. To his surprise, it didn't hurt, but—oh, of course, the trashbag's soul had probably weakened, and all his magic along with it. Idiot.

He'd play along though—think about what he'd done. He had a moment before the trashbag could get away, and before he could kill the stupid gyftrot, and finally drive the point home—drive a great big _crack_ through the comedian's soul.

He'd won, that's what he'd done! He'd spent all that time building up Papyrus's trust, and broken it, and broke _him_ , and then he'd broken the trashbag through it! All those months of work were going to pay off, and it would all be worth it.

He'd won, that's what he'd done! He'd spent all that time building up Papyrus's trust, and broken it, and broke _him_ , and then he'd broken the trashbag through it! All those months of work were going to pay off, and it would all be worth it.

He'd won, that's what. Built up Papyrus's trust, broke it, broke him, broke the trashbag. All those months of work would be worth it.

Won, built up trust and broke it, broke Papyrus broke the trashbag worth it

won broke trust papyrus trashbag worth it worth it broke crack soul gyftrot

won worth it papyrus soul crack trashbag crush vines move what move crack broke trust worth it worth it worth it won what was happening move vines kill move vines crush kill snow trees can't stop worth it

forest snow magic skeleton need to reach vines gyftrot move kill need to reach save snow snow snow magic worth it move save file repeat repeat repeat loop wreck save file repeat can't snow kill snap crack soul can't reach can't reach can't reach

sky skeletons monsters fish dogs dogs dogs dogs kill kill plans snap broken loop spiral save file loop save file loop save file loop save file worth it help help

_help_

 

* * *

 

Undyne was getting tired.

While they'd only been friends for a short time now, Papyrus had trained with her long enough to know how fast she could move, how steady her feet were in the snow, how she breathed when she was exerting herself. And though she wouldn't admit it, he could tell from the way she struggled to keep up with the dogs, the way she occasionally slipped over a patch of ice, the way her breathing sounded, that she was pushing herself.

It made sense why, of course. She'd been doing her usual Royal Guard-ly duties all day, and then she'd come looking for him, and then she'd healed him—or tried to.

Judging by the forest around him, the way he could see more trees in the distance and how much more difficult it was to see the crystals in the ceiling, morning was on its way.

She'd been out all night, as had the dogs, as had Sans…

_it's your fault, if you hadn't been so stupid as to let this happen, they'd be safe and asleep in bed right now, you would be too, it's your fault_

It was true. He'd been a bad sentry, a bad brother, a bad friend. It _was_ his fault.

He couldn't change it—he couldn't fix what he did. He couldn't repair, reset, repaint—everything was ruined. Everything…

Hands frantically grabbed at him, squeezing his right femur and gripping his shoulder, the shock of pain yanking him out of his thoughts. "Hang _on_ , Paps," Undyne gasped, and he felt her pace quicken. "We're almost to Sans. Hang on, _please_."

Papyrus snapped his head up, startled at how pale she looked—she bore that same terrified expression she'd had not long ago, in the clearing. He wasn't entirely sure why she kept making that face—why she looked so scared—but he couldn't stand seeing her—Undyne, the strong, brave, _fearless_ Captain of the Royal Guard—that way. "I-I'll...t-try."

"Keep at it, sentry."

Part of him didn't want to keep going—he felt like nothing but a burden, nothing but a sack of battered, broken bones that Undyne had to drag around. It'd be easier if she left him behind. But… she'd called him sentry—that had been a command. He _had_ to keep going, or he would be disobeying, he'd… he'd _fail_ again.

So he tried to focus, tried to keep the thoughts at bay, tried to watch the dogs running around him, see the sky slowly, slowly growing lighter, feel the pounding of Undyne's soul. Focus on those, focus, focus, focus—

A chorus of barks shattered through his concentration, sending him reeling in terror for reasons he didn't understand, and he clung to Undyne, clung to Sans's coat. "Wh-what's—?!"

" _Sans_!" Undyne shouted, leaning forward and bolting ahead, right alongside the dogs.

Sans—he was here, they'd found him, they could see him, which meant he wasn't dust, but had Flowey…?!

Struggling in Undyne's grasp, he twisted himself around enough to see the path ahead, but the dogs blocked his view.

Just as he was about to ask what they saw, they stopped. Greater Dog was the first, sneezing and stumbling backward, and Lesser Dog was soon to follow, backing away and whimpering. Dogamy and Dogaressa both froze in place, and without Dogamy's wearing his cloak, Papyrus could see the fur on his neck stand up.

The two Dogi stood just far enough apart for Undyne to rush between them, and then Papyrus could see it:

The gyftrot was facing away from them, her ears back and her muscles tense, and Sans, his eyes blank, was staring down at something on the ground.

" _SANS_?!" Papyrus called, his voice hoarse.

Sans snapped his head up, his pupils briefly flickering into view before winking out again. He was looking in their general direction, but not at Papyrus. As they drew closer, his gaze fell back to the ground.

A shudder rippled through him—why wouldn't Sans look at him? And where was Flowey?

Before he could think on it too long, Undyne's footsteps slowed, and her voice went quiet. "What the…"

And finally Papyrus saw it—something on the ground, in a few different spots, moving strangely. But what was—

He saw yellow petals, and his mind went blank.

It was Flowey—he was the thing on the ground, he and his vines, writhing, squirming, looping in unnatural, repetitive motions. His eyes were wide and twitching, his mouth jagged and gagging again and again, milky blue-white foam bubbling out of the corners of his mouth.

He was alive. He was alive, but…

"What," Undyne rasped, and he could hear the terror in her voice, "did you _do_."

When Sans didn't answer, Papyrus tore his gaze away from Flowey's writhing form and looked at his brother.

Sans looked up at Undyne, and then down at his hand. There was something in it—something glass, with a scrap of paper taped to it, labeled:

" **DO NOT DRINK.** "

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [An illustration of the scene with Papyrus and Undyne.](http://asleepyskeleton.tumblr.com/post/153085290206/it-wasnt-your-fault-from-the)


	16. A New Leaf

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dreams, tears, and laughter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry I'm a bit late! I finished the rough draft of this before New Years though, so I think that counts for something? Anyway...
> 
> A big thank-you to my beta reader, who put up with my writing throughout this story, haha.
> 
> I've got one final thing to say, but I'll say it after the epilogue.

The snow fell in huge, fluffy flakes, rapidly piling up on the ground below. It built up so quickly that it constantly fell from the tree branches, falling in large clumps to the forest beneath. He trudged on through that, though it obscured his vision on occasion. He could feel his scarf wrapped tightly around his neck, though, and knew the snow wouldn’t get through his armor and into his ribcage.

On, on, on he walked, deeper into the forest. There was nothing in particular on his mind other than the sound of snow crunching beneath his boots and the occasional, soft ruffle of snow dropping to the ground.

It was peaceful. It was good.

But why was he here?

He stopped for a moment to look around. Everything looked familiar and unfamiliar simultaneously, giving him a strange feeling of comfort combined with slight worry.

Why _was_ he here?

No matter. He’d remember soon.

So onward he marched, deeper and deeper. He knew he had a reason for being here, so he had to keep going. It would be all right. It would be fine. It was okay that he didn’t remember. It was okay.

“Howdy!”

Panic bolted through him and dread overwhelmed him before combining into a sick, rotten feeling somewhere in his middle.

Oh. Right. That’s why he was here.

The flower grinned up at him expectantly.

He had to say something. He knew he did. There was something he had to say, but no words were coming out of his mouth.

Flowey was waiting.

He moved his right hand to tug at his scarf, but found he was already carrying something: his sketchpad. That’s right. He was going to show him a picture he’d drawn, wasn’t he?

Opening the sketchpad, he flipped through it, but none of the pictures were clear, and his mind was growing fuzzy. No, this _wasn’t_ right.

“You’re awfully quiet, friend.”

He dropped the sketchpad into the snow. It would be ruined, but somehow it didn’t matter; all he could do was stare at was the little yellow flower in front of him.

Flowey wasn’t smiling anymore.

“It’s too late, you know.”

No. He didn’t want to believe that.

“You should’ve said something earlier.”

He should have, but he didn’t. But he could say it now… couldn’t he?

“I wish you’d been a better friend.”

So did he.

The sickness in his middle, he’d noticed, had turned into an ache in his chest—one he’d grown familiar with, lately.

“What did you even want to say, anyway?”

He was wondering that, too. His gaze drifted downward, falling upon the sketchpad. It was ruined—so why did he bring it in the first place? He wouldn’t do that.

He wouldn’t do this.

...He _hadn’t_ done this.

“Well?”

Looking up at Flowey again, recognition dawned upon him, and he heaved a quiet sigh. “It doesn’t matter,” he mumbled. “This is a dream anyway.”

Papyrus shut his eyes, and opened them to the sight of action figures carefully arranged on his table, off to the side of his bed. The forest, the snow, and Flowey were all gone—he was back in his room. None of it had been real.

Except the ache in his chest. That was real.

Suddenly he sat up in bed, quickly stripping his nightshirt and examining his ribcage. There was still a pillow stuffed into it—it helped chase away the feelings of _other_ things in his ribcage, sometimes—and he pulled it out. As for the ribs themselves, there were a few small scratch marks around the scars, but none of them were new. That was good, at least.

But then, this hadn’t been the sort of nightmare that would cause him to do _that_ anyway.

It was still a nightmare, though.

Papyrus held his head in his hands—it was the same nightmare he’d had every night this week. No, it didn’t involve pain, or anything truly scary, but it was still a nightmare.

It was a nightmare to see his friend standing there, completely normal, with nothing wrong... and waking up, knowing that it wasn’t real.

He wasn’t sure which ones were worse, honestly.

In addition, he knew exactly why he was having that particular nightmare again. Remembrance fell over him like a thick blanket of snow, and clung to his bones, making him feel heavy.

It was _today_. It was today that he was going to do it. He’d made the decision a week ago (after a lot of internal debate), but a week had seemed like such a long time, then. Now that it was here, it felt all too soon. He wasn’t ready.

But he’d committed to it, and he wasn’t going to change it.

Wiping his tears on his nightshirt—it was wash day, anyway—Papyrus forced himself to get out of bed and approached his closet. He didn’t need to switch on the light to see in order to retrieve his “Battle Body Mk. II,” as Sans had suggested he call it. While the gloves, boots, and scarf were the same, the breastplate was significantly smaller and fit closer to his ribs, and the lower half of his armor was made to cover more of his pelvis.

Overall, it was an absolute pain to take on and off.

Exactly how he wanted it.

While it wasn’t quite as comfortable as his original battle body had been, he knew he would get used to it in time. He would take good care of this one—he’d promised that to himself.

After an age of fighting with the outfit, he finally got into his battle body and checked himself in the mirror, his eyes sweeping over his form and deliberately avoiding looking at his exposed legs and spine for too long—no one else took notice of the scars, so he wouldn’t, either. But he couldn’t ignore how much smaller he looked with the new armor, compared to how his old battle body looked.

No matter. He would make up for it by being twice as great!

Papyrus puffed out his chest, standing as straight as possible, and struck a pose, like he always used to. There was no wind to pick up the end of his scarf, but he could imagine what it looked like.

It still looked fake.

Still he kept up the pose, staring at his reflection and fighting the urge to strike at the mirror. Yes, it was fake, but he would make it real someday.

...Just not today.

Slumping as he turned from the mirror, Papyrus marched to the door, forcing himself not to drag his feet, even when the familiar feeling of dread started to cling to his bones again.

The living room was not quiet, he noticed as he descended the staircase. There was a faint _skreet, skreet, skreet_ of a cricket somewhere in the house, which was a little strange. Furthermore, Sans was snoring away at the table, which was covered in a mess of notes, vials, droppers, a large jar without a lid, and what was probably the remains of an echo flower. Papyrus winced at the sight, and not just because of the clutter.

He stepped into the kitchen before anything else, preparing a pot of coffee and a bowl of oatmeal. Given the rarity of the particular brand—it was a human food, and had to be specially altered for monster consumption—the latter was usually saved for special occasions, but if he ever needed a little extra boost, it was now.

While he waited for his meal to microwave, he sat at the table, looking over the things scattered around it. Part of him was glad to see Sans working hard at something… but the other part wished that he were working on _anything_ other than this.

One notebook displayed a page that caught his eye: a diagram of an echo flower, with all the parts labeled. Papyrus nearly laughed when he saw it—it had the wrong number of petals and all of them were uneven sizes, the center part of the flower was off-center, and the flower itself was hilariously disproportionate to the stem.

Picking up a stray sheet of paper and a ballpoint pen, Papyrus sketched the flower from memory, labeling its parts as best as he could according to Sans’s sketch. It didn’t take him long to finish, and he found himself adding a scene around it, etching out a river behind it and a few smooth stones by the bank.

“Mmm… looks good, bro... but that was supposed to be a section-view diagram.”

Papyrus started, then looked up, wondering how long Sans had been awake and watching. “Section-view?”

“Yeah,” Sans mumbled, blinking down at the drawing. “Like, y’know, split in half, seein’ the inside.”

“I couldn’t tell,” Papyrus retorted, eying the torn-up plant that was scattered across the table. “It looks to me like you were planning an exploded view.”

Sans wheezed out a laugh, leaning down and resting his forehead against his arm again.

“Well, I’d draw you your ‘section-view,’ but I don’t go around slicing flowers in half so I wouldn’t know—”

_THUD._

Papyrus leaped back from the unexpected noise, pain thrumming through him as his soul pounded in panic. But he forced himself to calm when he realized that Sans had, without lifting his head, whipped an object out of his pocket and slammed it against the table. Panic quickly turned to annoyance when he realized that said object was a very mangled, bisected echo flower.

“Here’s your reference,” Sans said, with the heightened amusement of someone who’d had all of two hours of sleep.

“Y-yes.” Papyrus tugged at his scarf, still trying to calm his racing soul. “That will surely make for an accurate illustration.”

Just when he felt he’d successfully calmed his nerves, a piercing _beep, beep, beep_ rang from the kitchen, kicking his soul into high gear again. _It’s just the microwave, that’s all_ , he told himself, drawing in a deep breath that pressed his ribs against the inside of his armor.

“...You all right, bro?”

He released the breath a little too quickly. “Yes, fine,” he replied, and headed into the kitchen before Sans could question him further. He poured a mug of coffee and grabbed his oatmeal from the microwave before taking both out to the table and setting the coffee in front of Sans. “I assume you’ll need this to fully wake up?”

“Yeah, that should do it.”

While Sans took a sip from the mug, Papyrus stirred around his oatmeal, waiting for the candy eggs to melt. To his annoyance, Sans reached across the table to pick a few half-melted eggs out of the bowl and drop them into his coffee. “Sans—!”

“Needs sugar,” Sans said with a lopsided grin. He took another sip of coffee, then stared at Papyrus’s bowl, his grin fading. “...Oatmeal. What’s the occasion?”

Papyrus sighed, continuing to stir his oatmeal. “It’s today.”

“Oh. That soon?”

Confused by his brother’s mild reaction, Papyrus looked up.

“Could’a sworn it was next week,” Sans said, tapping a phalange at the side of his mug. “Does Al’ really need to see you that early? Heh, well, I can teleport you out to her lab if you want.”

“No!” Papyrus leaned away from the table, frowning. “That’s not it, and you’re not teleporting anywhere like _that_ , anyway. You remember what happened the last time you tried that after three hours of sleep.”

“Nope.”

“We materialized halfway into the mud, underwater, in Waterfall. Gerson had to fish us out.”

Too late, Papyrus recognized the stupid grin on his brother’s face. “We’re not _fish_ though, bro. Wouldn’t he have to _skeleton_ us out?”

“That doesn’t even…” He gave up criticizing the joke; Sans was already wheezing with laughter. With a growl, he faked a swat at his brother. “Drink your coffee!” With that, he shoved a spoonful of oatmeal into his mouth, ignoring the way it burned in his throat.

At least, he thought, Sans was only loopy from lack of sleep. Not that a lack of sleep was necessarily a _good_ thing, but it could be worse. At least he wasn’t stumbling and slurring from alcohol.

At least, at least. Could be worse, could be worse.

Sometimes he swore _he’d_ ingested some of that blasted echo flower serum, for how often he found himself thinking those phrases.

“Wait, where’d it go?”

Papyrus looked back at Sans to find him looking over the empty jar that was sitting on the table.

“Where did what go?” Papyrus repeated, scooping up another spoonful of oatmeal.

Sans lifted up the lid that was sitting next to the jar, looking beneath it. “The cricket!”

“Oh, I was wondering how that got here.” Papyrus looked back at the living room, frowning. “I heard it when I was coming downstairs.”

Sans growled in annoyance. “Help me catch it, will ya?” Taking another swig of coffee, he stood up from the table and rubbed his eyesockets.

Papyrus stood up with some reluctance and scoured the living room. Sans wasn’t much help, rubbing his eyes and yawning constantly as he searched, but Papyrus eventually found the bug huddled up against the far wall, close to the stairs.

“Come on, tiny bug…” he said, reaching down to pick the thing up. It took a few tries, as the cricket repeatedly hopped out of his hands, but finally he managed to snag it between two phalanges, and held it up.

The bug squirmed helplessly in his grasp.

Involuntarily he let go and jumped back, his soul pounding rapidly. Sans was quick to grab it again in his sleeve, which he’d pulled up around his hand. “It’s fine, bro. Crickets don’t bite,” he assured him, carrying the bug back over to the table.

That hadn’t been why he’d let go. His bones rattled in a shudder.

“Now c’mere. I wanted to show you this.” Sans took a seat again, holding the cricket in place against the table.

Papyrus followed slowly, pointedly looking away from the bug. “Do you have to hurt it?”

Sans gave him a look. “It’s not gonna _hurt_ it, bro. It’s just gonna… confuse it, a little.”

“Just as bad,” Papyrus muttered, taking his seat and staring down at the oatmeal. He wasn’t so sure of how hungry he was anymore.

“So it took a while, but I think I got it this time,” Sans went on, a rare hint of excitement creeping into his voice. That was nice to hear, if nothing else. “It was, uh…” His eyesockets narrowed as he examined a row of cyan-liquid-filled vials in front of him, but finally he settled on the second-from-the-left, sticking a dropper into it. “This one.”

“H-how will you know it works?” Papyrus found himself asking, if only so he would know what to hope he wouldn’t see.

Sans turned the dropper between his phalanges, examining the dosage. “Should be doin’ something repetitive. Chirping, hopping in place, or hopping straight forward even when it’s hittin’ a wall—doin’ one of those things, and not much else.”

Drawing in a breath, Papyrus forced himself to watch as Sans brought the dropper over to the cricket, careful not to spill anything. His bones were tense and aching, his soul still pounding in anxiety. _He’s doing this for you,_ he reminded himself, as much as he hated to watch this. _He’s been staying up all these late nights for you._

If only he could do something _else_ …

“Just two drops should do it.” Sans hovered the dropper over the bug, and, after hesitating a moment, finally gave it a squeeze.Two drops of cyan liquid splashed over the bug’s head. “And…”

They waited.

After a tense moment, Sans pulled his hand away, and the cricket immediately hopped off the table. It hopped in a few different directions before they lost it among the carpet patterns.

Papyrus wasn’t sure if it had been successful or not until he heard Sans give a groan of despair, letting his head clunk against the table. “I thought… I thought I’d _had_ it that time. I was so sure…”

“I-it’s all right, Sans,” Papyrus said, reaching across the table to rub his brother’s shoulder and trying to mask his own relief.

“No, it’s not.” Sans held his head in his hands, still not looking up. “I need to _get_ this. I need to figure this out—that serum doesn’t last forever.”

“Well…” Papyrus returned to his oatmeal, stirring it around. It was getting cold. “Maybe it doesn’t _need_ to.”

“We’ve been _over_ this, Paps.” Sans finally lifted his head, looking more tired than he had when he’d initially woken up. “I don’t think you’d—that _anyone_ would be able to talk sense into that thing.”

“H-h-he is not a _thing_!” He pounded his fist against the table, his face hot with anger before he even felt it flaring up. “Stop _calling_ him that! You c-can’t—”

Sans had covered his face, and Papyrus went silent, looking down ashamedly—sometimes it was easy to forget that he wasn’t the only one Flowey had hurt. He still didn’t know the details of what had happened between Flowey and Sans that night, but if it was anything like he feared… Sans had every right to be angry.

A sickened anger churned within his nonexistent stomach at the idea that Flowey would hurt Sans. The idea that _anyone_ would hurt his brother—it was unthinkable. Even though Sans had not been… damaged the way _he_ had, it was still…

...but…

“I… I’m doing it today,” he said, forcing himself to look at Sans.

Finally his brother uncovered his face, looking at him in confusion, which shifted to shocked realization. “ _Today_? That’s _today_? Bro, are you sure about that?”

“I-I… well… no. B-but… I told myself I would.”

“That doesn’t mean you _have_ to,” Sans said, reaching across the table to place a hand on Papyrus’s arm. “You could always do it some other time. I can talk to Tam, and—”

“N- _no_ , Sans.” Papyrus looked Sans in the eyes, as much as he wanted to look away. “I’m not running away.”

“Never said you had to.”

“I’m not _putting it off_ , either.” He turned back to his oatmeal, scooping up a spoonful. “You said yourself… that serum doesn’t last forever.” And with that, he forced himself to eat, if only to end the conversation.

“...You’re right, bro.” Sans downed the rest of his coffee, and sat back in his chair. “You’re right.”

 

* * *

 

When noon came, they marched through the town, Papyrus carrying a few containers of food in his hands. There was spaghetti in one, and assorted fruits and vegetables in the other—chopped, rather than pulverized, as he remembered she preferred them still crunchy for some reason. Meanwhile, Sans hauled a small bundle of water sausages under his arm.

Every so often someone would wave to them, and Papyrus had to make a conscious effort to wave back, rather than tensing up or walking faster. He wasn’t doing anything unusual, and they had no reason to stare, so they wouldn’t. They didn’t. They had no reason to.

Sans elbowed him softly in the side, and he blinked down at his brother.

“You all right?”

“Fine,” he said. “Why?”

“Bones’re rattling.”

...So they were. He took a deep breath, forcing his body to still as he kept moving. It was hard, though, as his mind kept drifting back to what he would be doing very soon, now.

“When _is_ your next appointment, anyway?” Sans asked.

The topic wasn’t exactly on one of his top-twelve things to discuss, but he gladly took the opportunity to distract himself. “Next Thursday,” Papyrus replied, checking over the containers to make sure the lids hadn’t come loose on either.

“Anything special this time?”

“I don’t think so, but... she _did_ invite me to watch some of her anime afterward.”

“Sounds _ani-mazing_.”

Not really, but the idea of sitting around and watching TV with someone—with a friend—felt _normal_ , and Papyrus would do anything for that. His appointments with ALPHYS—or Dr. Alphys, her real name—had become a regular occurrence now, and he was gradually coming to terms with that. Most monsters didn’t have to travel all the way to Hotland to go to a lab and have a bunch of things strapped to their bones to have their soul monitored every week or two… but then, most monsters didn’t get to have personal, one-on-one training with the Captain of the Royal Guard. So that meant it wasn’t a _bad_ thing, right?

It wasn’t normal for others, but it was normal for him—it was a regular thing, something he could count on to be consistent.

In the midst of hellish nightmares, random flashbacks, and unpredictable moods swinging from anger to terror to depression and everything in-between, consistent appointments and meetings were an anchor.

“You should touch up the paint on this sometime,” Sans said, snapping him out of his thoughts.

Papyrus shook his head, noting that they were crossing the rock formation he’d painted over. “Probably,” he said, staring down at the flat surface that he’d painted to look like wooden planks. It was chipped and marred from so many feet crossing it. Briefly he wondered if the cliffside was in similar shape, and looked down over the side.

Sans’s hand was immediately at his chest, pulling him back. “Uh—or maybe sometime _later_ ,” he stammered. “I mean, that mural _paint_ goin’ anywhere.”

Papyrus eyed him, but didn’t feel like arguing about it right now, and the two finally crossed the rock formation and passed Greater Dog’s station. But rather than heading into the cluster of icy woods up ahead, they took a left, down the hill.

In spite of the cold, sweat was dripping down Papyrus’s shivering bones, and his soul was pounding. He felt sick and lightheaded, and his legs were itching to turn him around and bolt back up the hill. He was almost tempted to let them.

But then he felt the pressure of Sans’s hand against his back, and looked down at his brother.

Sans looked him in the eyes. “I’m right here,” he said. “I… don’t know what’s gonna happen, but I’m here. Okay?”

He didn’t reply immediately—he was afraid that if he did, he would lose what little composure he had left. Swallowing a few times, he reached out with a hand, only to remember he was carrying something in it. For some reason the only thing he could think of was that he couldn’t take the containers with him, so he held them out shakily. “Um… C-could you… h-hold these for me?”

Sans stared at the food containers, then gave him a hard look. “...Papyrus, are you seriously afraid…”

Papyrus winced, shuddering.

“...you’re going to _lose your lunch_?”

The two stared at each other for a long moment, each waiting for the other to speak. After a while, San’s mouth gave a twitch, Papyrus let out a _snrk_ , and the two simultaneously burst into laughter. Sans doubled over, dropping his bundle of water sausages, and Papyrus’s legs shook before giving out, causing him to fall back against the hill. They laughed for a while, and eventually Papyrus’s laughter took on the distinct sound of sobbing.

“I-I can’t do it, I can’t do it, I can’t do it Sans I can’t s- _see_ him I c-c-can’t—” he couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t stop shaking, he was going to be sick.

Sans’s arms were around him in an instant, one hand rubbing circles against his back. “You _can_ , bro,” he said over Papyrus’s hiccuping sobs. “You’re the Great Papyrus, and you can do anything.”

Papyrus scrubbed at his face furiously, doing nothing but soaking his gloves as the tears continued to fall.

“But…”

He blinked, trying to focus on Sans again, as his brother looked him in the eyes.

“You don’t have to do it right _now_ , if you ever want to at all.” He rubbed a few more soothing circles into his back, gently rocking him. “Okay?”

_No. He_ had _to do it now, or he never would._ He tried to communicate this, but his voice only hitched and choked.

“Breathe, Paps.”

He did so, as best as he could. His breaths were shaky and stuttery, but slowly became more sure. After an eternity of making himself breathe and letting his brother rock him gently in the snow, he wiped the remaining tears from his face.

“I… I’ll do it, Sans,” he said, sitting up. “Right now.”

“Okay.” Sans stepped back, picking up the water sausages and taking the food containers from his brother as he stood up. “Ready?”

Papyrus nodded, and the two continued their descent  down the rest of the hill.

Several mounds of snow shaped like gyftrots and dogs greeted them, and Lesser Dog looked up from his work, yipping pleasantly at them. If he had heard any of Papyrus’s breakdown, he showed no sign of it, and went back to building up the neck of his current snow-dog.

The sight caught Papyrus by surprise. He hadn’t been down here since… well, not for a while. He’d heard about how they’d moved Lesser Dog’s station, and how the gyftrot had been coming and going from their caves far more often, and how they’d gotten some gardeners from New Home to come and…

He stared at the entrance to the cave.

“It is good to see you, Papyrus.”

He gave a start, bones rattling and soul pounding, but quickly calmed when he spotted the figure that was weaving her way around the snow sculptures.

“Heya, Tam,” Sans said, nodding to the gyftrot.

“Hello, Tamarack!” Papyrus called, waving enthusiastically as his friend approached. “It’s good to see you, too!”

The gyftrot stopped in front of the skeleton brothers, looking them over with each set of eyes before both of them settled on Papyrus. “Are you ready, then?”

“Er—!” Of course, Tamarack had never been one for beating around the bush. Or the pine tree. “Um…” He glanced back at Sans, who nodded, and faced Tamarack again, straightening his back. “Y-y-yes.”

“Then come with me.” With that, the gyftrot turned around, striding easily toward the cave entrance.

Papyrus stared after her, starting to feel like one of the automated mechanisms in his puzzles as he willed himself to follow. Sans kept behind him, but stopped at the cave entrance, turning away. The action made Papyrus pause, but only for a moment—it was what they’d agreed to a week ago, after all.

As he took a step further into the cave, he picked up on the scent. It was musty and faint, but it was there, and it brought foggy memories of fear, pain, and sadness.

Tamarack let out a short, non-threatening growl, bringing him back. Another gyftrot, hearing the sound, stood up within the cave. And as it stepped away and made its way to the exit, Papyrus saw _him_.

There were several holes in the cavern wall, the light from outside shining through onto the soft dirt floor, and there, in the midst of a patch of light, was Flowey.

Papyrus felt detached from the rest of the world, wandering through a dream toward him. Except this wasn’t like the many, many nightmares he’d had of Flowey standing before him, bobbing around and speaking to him, or worse.

This Flowey was lying sprawled on the ground, his eyes wide and glazed over. Even in the dark, Papyrus could see the blue-white stains at the corner of his mouth. His petals were a strange color—the veins within were a barely-luminescent green, and his face was also barely glowing blue. His vines—the few he had left—were twitching and writhing weakly around him. Papyrus had known that some of the vines had been cut to make him easier to move, but these were covered in bite marks, and one of them had clearly been bitten in half.

“Old wounds,” Tamarack whispered, making Papyrus jolt in surprise. “The fawns couldn’t resist nibbling. That is the risk you run when you ask gyftrots to watch a plant.” Her ears flicked. “We have made them stop, however.”

Papyrus nodded weakly, and resumed staring.

While the fear that had overtaken him earlier still gripped his bones, it didn’t feel so overwhelming, now that he was really, truly seeing him. He couldn’t dart into the ground, couldn’t grab him and restrain him, couldn’t speak to him and confuse his mind.

He’d become helpless, and sick.

Tamarack gave a quiet huff, and Papyrus shakily took a step forward, crouching down by the flower’s head.

“H… hello, Flowey.”

The flower did not respond.

“I… I-I know it’s… b-been a while.” He moved to sit on his knees, watching for some reaction—any sign that Flowey could hear him. “I’m… sure you understand why, though.”

Some distance behind him, he heard Sans shuffle his feet.

“I-if you can hear me, anyway.” He tried to smile, and couldn’t.

It was quiet in the cave; he could hear Tamarack’s breathing, and the quiet sounds the vines made against the dirt.

Papyrus cleared his throat. “It’s… it’s been a few months n-now. I’ve gone back t-to maintaining the puzzles, and… a-and training with Undyne…” Suddenly he looked over his shoulder—Sans was still facing away—before turning back, lowering his voice. “A-and training on my own, t-too, a little. ...A lot.”

He stole a quick glance at Tamarack, but she didn’t acknowledge what he’d said, if she’d heard. It was hard to tell with her, sometimes. He shivered.

“B-but there’s also, um… I-I’ve started seeing… D-do you remember ALPHYS? I-I think I m-mentioned her to you… I’ve been seeing her. Sh-she’s a doctor! More of science-fiction kind of stuff—the real kind, l-like what Sans likes… b-but she’s…” He swallowed dryly, tugging at his scarf. “She’s been… doing some… tests.”

It was starting to get harder to speak. His hand was clutching his scarf, but it was itching to claw at something else.

He could just stop here, he realized. He had no idea if Flowey could even hear him. But at the same time, it didn’t feel _right_ to not tell him.

“I-I don’t… d-don’t… know i-if you know what…” His gaze drifted—it was so hard to focus on those glazed eyes, and he found himself staring at the vines instead. Suddenly his spine straightened with a painful _crack_ , and he shivered involuntarily, hand scratching at his chestplate. It was hurting again.

Tamarack let out a _huff_ , kneeling in the dirt next to him. He pulled his hand away from his chest and wrapped his arm around her shoulders; her body was warm, and he focused on the feeling.

“Wh-what happened, it… m-my soul is…” He shut his eyes; he hated to admit it, he didn’t like anyone knowing, but of all people, _he_ had to know. “It has a crack in it.”

After a moment, he opened his eyes, and was only partially dismayed to see that Flowey’s expression hadn’t changed. Could he hear him? Did he even know what that meant? “Gerson… h-he’s an old monster, and he fought in the war. He’s seen it happen before. He says… s-says it’s a sign of strength.”

He was supposed to feel happy about that.

“It… it happens when…” Papyrus paused, trying to remember how the old turtle had put it. “When… s-someone attacks a monster, with a blow that should kill it, but without the intent to kill.” Was that right? “B-but the monster’s soul is strong enough… to hold together.” He rubbed his arm, looking away unsurely. “It… doesn’t happen often. B-but it still damages the monster, a-and…”

He shook his head, making himself smile. “B-but it’s okay! Um, Alphys s-says my base HP is back up by twenty points, now! S-so I… I think…”

He stared into Flowey’s eyes again, remembering how they’d looked, back when…

No. He had to say what he’d come to say.

“F-Flowey… I-I know you weren’t… trying to kill me, o-or I wouldn’t still… b-be here. But…” He drew in a breath. “S-Sans… told me something.”

Sans began kicking a chunk of ice around at the entrance to the cave.

“Wh-what you… did. What you did…” Again, he drew in a breath, involuntarily breathing it out through his nose; his chest was heaving, and his vision was starting to blur. “Y-y-you… you _lied_ to me, you _lied_ , a-and you _tricked_ me into…”

Papyrus’s bones were rattling now, but not in fear this time.

“A-and then you hurt Sans, and Tamarack, and—!” His face felt hot, in spite of the tears that spilled down it. “And I know if—if you could t-talk right now, you’d just t-t- _trick_ me again, make me confused… make me th-think that’s not what you _actually_ did, b-but I won’t be confused again! I won’t _let_ you confuse me! _I-I **know** what you did to me, Flowey_!”

And for a while, he just glared down at the flower, breathing through his teeth, wiping at his face. He couldn’t stand thinking about all that stuff Sans had talked about, so he focused only on the feeling, the agonized anger that burned in his soul.

But he could only be angry at a sick, immobile flower for so long.

It emptied out of him, like thick sludge through a drain. Some of the anger still clung to his soul, but he could hold it back. As terrible as Flowey had been, there was always a chance that Papyrus didn’t know the whole story.

“...But… perhaps you didn’t know?” he offered, not sure if he even believed it. “Y-you didn’t know what you were doing…?”

The ice chunk Sans had been kicking around flew into one of the snow sculptures outside.

“O-or maybe _you_ were confused about something, or…” He shook his head. “Regardless… I-I…”

Papyrus swallowed, then swallowed again, clearing his throat. He looked from the vines, to the stem, to Flowey’s unseeing eyes again, and blinked away tears.

It felt like such a long, long time he sat there, trying to form the words—words he never thought he would ever have to say, words he never _wanted_ to say. But he had to say them.

He made himself think about what Flowey had done, loathe as he was to do it; he thought about Flowey attacking him with no prompting, making him sick so he wouldn’t be there to help Snowy, making him think that everything that had happened had been _his_ fault—a feeling he still couldn’t shake at times—and luring him out into the forest again, and…

He had to say it.

“I don’t think I-I can be your friend anymore.”

Immediately his mind was in a whirl, wishing he could take the words back, but they were already there—they had already been spoken, whether Flowey heard them or not.

He spoke up again, voice frantic. “But—but if, wh-when you’re better, you want to… to turn a new leaf, so to speak, I-I…!”

Papyrus wiped at his face again, then held out a shaky hand.

His eyes darted back to the vines, to make sure they weren’t moving toward him, make sure they didn’t try to grab his wrist, or attack Tamarack, or…

Drawing in a breath, he reached out, and placed his hand on Flowey’s stem. His expression, fearful before, was now firm.

“Sans doesn’t think you can change, but… I do. I believe in you, Flowey.” He rubbed his fingers over the blue-tinted stem in what he hoped was a comforting manner. “I can help you, if you let me. But if not…” After letting his hand linger a moment, he pulled it away. “Well… I hope you understand.”

Papyrus sat still for a moment, staring at Flowey. The flower’s eyes were still glazed, but he thought that maybe he saw a shift in expression—his eyelids seemed a bit lower than before, and the corner of his mouth seemed to twitch a bit.

Or maybe it was just his imagination.

Sighing, he leaned away. “Please think about it… if you can.”

And with that, he finally rose to his feet.

Tamarack blinked a few times, standing up with him and stretching her legs. She followed him as he turned back to the cave entrance, keeping close. “Those were not the words I expected to hear,” she said.

He looked back at her. “Do you… think I said the right thing?”

She was silent for a moment, then shook her antlers. “If you think you did.”

Sans was still at the entrance to the cave, his head lowered, hands in his pockets, and breathing slow and even. He looked like he’d been sleeping, but Papyrus knew that wasn’t the case. When they walked past him, he blinked “awake,” and looked up. “Oh, finished already?” he asked, yawning.

“Yes,” Papyrus said, without looking back. “We’re ready to go, now.”

Sans shuffled after them, nodding to Lesser Dog as they turned to move up the hill. The gyftrot they’d seen earlier watched them pass, and headed back toward the cave. “How’d’you feel now, bro?”

_Better_ , should have been the answer. Or _like a burden has been lifted_ , as he remembered Tamarack once said.

But he could only say the truth. “...Weird,” he admitted. “It’s… it’s not over, after all.”

“Well, for all intensive purposes,” Sans said, grinning when Papyrus grumbled at the phrasing, “let’s pretend it is, ‘least for today.”

“Indeed,” Tamarack responded. “We still have our picnic, yes?”

Papyrus smiled at that. “Of course. I prepared you a fine meal, Tamarack!”

“Oh?” Her ears drooped, though he wasn’t sure why.

“Yes. Some chopped tomatoes and lettuce and carrots, and a few sliced crabapples,” he said, grinning at her, and Sans held up the food container.

She let out a deep breath, her lower eyes closing. “That sounds nice.”

“Of course, you’re free to share some of my spaghetti.”

“Or some water sausages,” Sans added, adjusting his grip on the bundle he carried.

She stared at both of them simultaneously with her two sets of eyes. “No.”

Sans gave a chuckle, and Papyrus couldn’t help laughing—genuinely, loudly, fearlessly laughing. It was something that had become rarer for him, but he knew that in time it would become more frequent again.

And as for Flowey…

He had time to think about that later, when the serum finally wore off.

Until then, he would hold onto these moments fiercely.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Illustration of Papyrus's "Battle Body Mk. II"](http://asleepyskeleton.tumblr.com/post/153850146768/battle-body-mk-ii-from-an-upcoming-chapter-of-my)


	17. Epilogue

The very second he was able to maintain a single, uninterrupted thought, he reset.

The world came back to him in a rush of gold and purple and green, more jarring than any reset he had ever performed in timelines past. His thoughts no longer looped and repeated endlessly, and he was finally, finally able to _think_.

He had underestimated just how hard it would be.

His thoughts, his mind, his vision—everything was so clear again that it _hurt_. The silence was practically screaming at him and it was overwhelming, almost as bad as that horrid curse, that sickness—

Out of all the things that had ever happened to him, that was one of the scariest.

It was like a thousand resets, all happening at the same time, over and over, and he couldn’t escape, he’d never known that trashbag was capable of such scary magic, he couldn’t gather enough of his thoughts together to reset, and it never ended, it never stopped, he couldn’t sleep, he could barely think, he couldn’t move, he couldn’t do _anything_ , and it hurt, and it never stopped, and now it was gone but even _that_ hurt for how empty and silent everything was, he couldn’t stand it—

“MOMMY! DADDY!” Flowey sobbed, stretching his stem out of the soil as tears dripped down his face and his petals. Over many resets he had learned how to fake the tears, but these were anything but—they were true, genuine tears of fear and pain. “HELP ME!”

“Asriel—?!” a deep voice boomed, and the king turned to see him.

“D-Daddy, what’s happened to me…?!” It was a script he’d had memorized for a while, something he’d perfected for when he needed to work with the king or queen for whatever reason.

In this case, the reason was merely the fact that he needed comfort, and he needed it now.

The king was at his side in seconds, in tears, crying about how he was sorry he’d let this happen, and how everything would be all right now, and how he’d figure out how to help him.

Flowey ignored all of it, merely leaning into the king’s chest and pretending that it was a comfort.

He didn’t know what he was going to do in this timeline, and he didn’t care, so long as it made him forget the hell he’d just escaped.

But then the king placed his paw on his stem, and Flowey paused.

Slowly, foggily, a memory began to surface. It was garbled and confusing, but it was there—someone else had placed their paw—their hand—on his stem, and said something to him. He couldn’t remember what, but he remembered the words sounded kind… and he remembered the feeling of a thin, gloved hand, rubbing small, comforting circles into his stem.

...But that couldn’t be. Why had _he_ done that? After everything that had happened, after everything Flowey had done to him, why would _he_ come back? Why would he be… _nice_ to him?

Flowey’s thin, frail form shivered as he buried his face in the king’s side.

He didn’t understand…

He didn’t understand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, we've finally reached the end. 
> 
> And if you're like me, you're probably a bit disappointed you didn't get to see more of Papyrus's recovery.
> 
> I figured it would kill what little decent pacing my story had, so I decided to wrap up everything between Flowey and Papyrus here. However... I will be working on a sequel (or midquel?) that will take place between chapters 15 and 16, detailing more of Papyrus's recovery. It'll be a bit more episodic than this, but I hope you'll like it nonetheless, should you choose to read it.
> 
> I can't say when it'll be up... but you'll know it when you see it.
> 
> Until then, goodnight, readers, and thank you for reading my story.


End file.
